


Ex Nihilo

by angrbodagiantess



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Avengers Tower, Gen, Loki Feels, Loki Whump, Mild Gore, Mystery, Psychological Horror, Scary stuff hopefully, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Tags Contain Spoilers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-08-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 08:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angrbodagiantess/pseuds/angrbodagiantess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something sinister is happening in Avengers Tower, and where is everybody?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is my first story on here, hope it's not too bad. I can honestly say I don't write stories with the idea of posting them online in my mind. But, I thought, what the hey, can't hurt. Maybe someone will like it. I have no idea why I decided to start with a horror/suspense story, since my favorite genre is hurt/comfort.
> 
> This chapter is from Tony's perspective (which is why I think it's more of a prologue), but the entire story is Loki-centric. Points of view will change between characters; a dotted line will indicate this.

Something was tapping on glass. Or knocking? Tony Stark's jerked his eyes open, wondering what the hell that sound could be. He was laying on something soft.  _A bed? Nope. A couch. My couch._ He lifted his head slightly.  _In my tower..._  The coffee table was to his right and beyond that, the sky-high windows.

_Hm._

The tapping was coming from there, he was sure of it. He had only just noticed it, but it seemed that the tapping had been going on for hours, as though someone were attempting to awaken him with the noise.

But there was nobody there.

_Hm._

He sat up, looking around. The tapping had stopped and now the room seemed too quiet.

He ruffled his right hand through his hair and threw his legs off the side of the couch, his shoes meeting the floor with a muffled  _thump_. He looked down. The sound shouldn't have been muffled. He hit the floor with the heel of his foot.  _Thump._  Too quiet.

He shook his head.  _Weird._

It was still daytime outside, but it was overcast. Tony stood up and moved to the window, slowly taking note of his disturbingly muffled footsteps on the concrete flooring.

He looked down again.  _What the hell._

He needed some coffee. Yes, coffee would fix. Coffee fixed everything. But what time was it? He looked down at his watch,  _1:42._   _And why is it so cold in here?_  he thought.

"Jarvis?"

_"Yes, sir?"_

"Why's it so damn cold in here? Turn up the heat, will you?"

_"Of course, sir."_

Tony stared out the window, suddenly remembering the sound of tapping.  _What was it? A bird?_  It didn't seem likely.

The sky was overcast but there seemed to be a strange sort of fog settling over the city.  _Fog. Ugh._  He hated fog. He stared at a building in his line of sight.  _Hm, strange._  There were no lights on. He looked at another building. There were no lights on there, either. He glanced at another building, then another. Nothing. No lights. It was the middle of the day, sure, but it was still dark enough that people would still turn on their lights. His own lights were on, after all.

Then he glanced down at the street, his forehead touching the glass.

_What. the. hell._

There was no movement. Nothing. No one on the streets below. He rubbed his eyes, shook his head.  _Need to stop drinking, Tony_. He looked again. Nothing. Silence.

"Jarvis?" He ignored the nervousness in his own voice.

_"Yes, sir?"_

"Where are all the people? There's, there's no people..." He pointed down toward the street with a finger as though the AI could see.

_"Yes, sir."_

"'Yes, sir'? What the hell does that mean?"

_"I am at a loss to explain it, sir. But there appears to be no one on the streets below, nor anywhere else in the city_. _"_

"Come again?" Stark replied quickly. His heart beating rapidly against the arc reactor.

_"My scans of the immediate area show no signs of life."_

"No signs of- what? What happened?" Tony put both hands on the window to get a better look but immediately drew them back. The glass was ice-cold. "Jarvis, I thought I told you to turn up the heat!" The room actually felt colder.

_"Yes, sir. I have, sir. However, the temperature appears to be decreasing rapidly. There may be a glitch in the building's environmental controls. The temperature is now twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit."_

"Twenty-two?!"

_"And the temperature is continuing to fall. Perhaps you should find some-"_

"You know what? I don't give a damn about that," Tony practically yelled to the ceiling, "just..." he thought for a moment, still staring out the window. "The internet. Check the internet, maybe there's something-"

_"I have been trying, sir."_

"And?" Tony was becoming impatient. There was a pause.

_"I have been unable to connect to the world wide web."_

_What the hell,_ Tony thought. His mind was racing, trying to come up with a logical explanation. Was there something wrong with the servers? Or was there something wrong Jarvis? A sudden idea popped in his head.  _Pepper. No..._  Pepper was on a business trip.  _Phone._ He felt around in his pockets for his cell phone, then began searching the immediate area when he didn't find it.  _Where the hell's my cell?_  He looked on the coffee table, the couch, the floor next to the couch. He sighed while crouched down next to the couch.  _Where did I leave it?_

He stood up, still thinking. A sudden panic begin to creep in.  _Should I suit up?_  No. He needed more information. There was a surveillance room several levels down from here,  _yes. Maybe there's someone else in the building._  He considered asking Jarvis, but there was a chance that his AI was malfunctioning, so he decided to only trust his own eyes.

He didn't want to look outside again. He didn't want to see the empty buildings, the silent streets. The grey haze that invaded every corner of his vision, he ignored, pushing it to the back of his mind and labeled it, for the moment, unimportant. But the truth was, he didn't know what to do with any of it. Panic and fear were snaking up his spine, and he wanted nothing more than to ignore them.

There was only one thing on his mind right now: find someone. Anyone.

.

The elevator ride down seemed longer than usual, but he had run into no trouble and the room was waiting for him, quiet, humming with technological solemnity. The glow of the myriad of screens welcomed him when he entered, awaiting a master's touch. Each screen was split into multiple smaller screens, each one flipping every few seconds through the hundreds of cameras scattered throughout the tower.

Tony resisted the urge to tell Jarvis what to do, and instead opted to use his fingers to find what he was looking for.  _What am I looking for_...

As the screens continued switching between their designated cameras, Tony saw what he was afraid to see: nothing. No one. There appeared to be no one anywhere in the tower.

He caught a glimpse of a couple of cameras outside and took control of the screen so it would stay there.

Nothing.

No one.

_What's happened?_

It wasn't just that there weren't any people. There weren't even any cars. It was as though the entirety of the cities residents had decided to pack up and take a vacation, and with their cars, too.

He shook his head, then allowed the screens to return to their normal function.

Movement.

Out of the corner of his eye, there was something moving on one of the far screens. Something dark- the scene changed, showing a blank hallway.  _Dammit!_  Tony quickly typed on the keyboard, bringing up the previous screen. Wrong hallway. Room. Room.  _Aha!_

He squinted at the screen despite his vision being perfect and the screen large.  _What in the-_  The corridor was unfamiliar, or perhaps too familiar since every damned hallway in this damned building looked the same. He would have scolded himself for getting lazy on that point if he wasn't transfixed by what he was seeing. The lights on the screen were dimming, and a sort of darkness had gathered at the center of it. Slowly, the darkness changed, twisting and morphing into something vaguely resembling a form- a person, so it seemed. Two blurry legs and wavering arms, although the central mass was still mostly formless, too large in the now darkening corridor. Blackness followed it like a mist as it walked, its gait unnatural and broken, as though it had never walked before. It moved, slowly like a ground fog toward one end of the hall, then stopped when it reached a door.  _That door's familiar._ An arm stretched out, or something like an arm, then it opened the door without touching the handle.

_Wait a second._

He typed a few keys, the screen changed to show the room the darkness- or whatever it was -had just entered.

Tony froze.

He saw the darkness, lingering by the door. And there was a man. A man standing in front of multiple screens inside the room. He couldn't avert his gaze. He couldn't stop staring. He couldn't  _breathe._

The darkness moved,  _glided_ , across the floor, toward the man with the dark hair, the soft glow of an arc reactor peaking from behind his dark AC/DC shirt.

Tony wanted to  _move_ , to do something. But he couldn't, he could only stare, his entire body frozen in fear, shock.

_Turn around! Turn around!_  his mind screamed, but he just couldn't.

The darkness was so near the man on the screen. It hovered at the center of the room, as though surveying its surroundings. Then a black tentacle-like arm reached out, slowly, slowly out toward the man. Tony's heart seemed silent, he could only hear a high-pitched whine- all around, surrounding him. The world was fading away...

A loud bang burst passed the permeating whine behind him. Reflexively, Tony turned around, his stomach jumping into his throat.

Tony was sure he hadn't just screamed like a little girl. Nope. No way. He certainly hadn't. But if one were to check the security footage, they would prove him wrong.

There was nothing there- well, no  _darkness_. No black creature, or misshapen dark-mist tentacle-arm reaching for him. But, there was something else. Something standing in the doorway, staring at him.

"What...in the nine circles of hell are  _you_  doing here?!" yelled Tony.

The figure stood for a moment, form shaking, then without a single word or acknowledging motion, promptly fell forward in an undignified face-crushing slump on the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll update sooner if there is a cliffhanger at the end of the chapter, otherwise I'll try to update at least once a week.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I decided the prologue wasn't enough to get the story going, so I'm posting this one as well. Sorry in advance for any OOC-ness in this story.
> 
> Anyway, have fun! Or...not. Either way, it's up to you.

Loki remembered seeing one Anthony Stark standing before him, face a mixture of fear, confusion and anger before a sudden pain and darkness enveloped him as he crashed to the floor. He wasn't certain how he had gotten here, and even more worrying, he wasn't even certain where  _here_  was. If Tony Stark was here, then he was most likely on Midgard- the architecture certainly suggested that -but there was no way to confirm that, seeing as how he had just passed out in front of the mortal.

Now there was something shaking him- no,  _somebody_  shaking him. He heard a noise, a voice nearby.

Loki wrenched his eyes open, determined to make the shaking stop. The sound of a man's voice ringing in his ears, yelling, so it seemed. Yelling his name?

 _Oh, wonderful._  So it was Tony Stark.  _Still here...not a dream._

"Hey! Reindeer games! Wake up! Loki!" came the grating sound of Stark's voice.

"...so loud!" he heard his own voice, as though only half a sentence had been forced out.

A confused face was near, and what was that? Concern? Or fear? Stark's tell-tale goatee was moving around above him, saying something that was muffled.

Loki shook his head. He suddenly felt as though he were underwater, his vision blurry and Stark's words barely getting through. He stared at the mortal, whose mouth continued moving.  _And what's this expression now?_  Annoyance, Loki mused.

"Can. you. hear. me?" Tony's voice crashed in suddenly, and Loki flinched away from the noise.

"Stark," Loki began.

"What?" came Tony's too loud voice.

"Stop...talking..." Loki suddenly realized he was still on the floor, on his back, his head throbbing and his eyes severely unable to focus. To his surprise, Stark actually  _did_  stop talking, and somehow it unnerved him.  _Since when did the_ great  _Tony Stark listen to me? Or to anyone for that matter?_

Tony was now leaning back, crouched on the floor leaning on one knee but was still staring at the god. Loki reached up a hand to rub his aching temples, but realized, with great annoyance, that he was still shackled.  _But of course..._

They were the same shackles he had been wearing since he had been brought back to Asgard after his, unfortunately, failed attempt at taking over Midgard. His former people had deemed the mortals' chains too weak, and had immediately replaced them with a more hardy pair, which successfully, and to Loki's unending chagrin, blocked his magic.

He stared at the cuff around his right wrist, noting the runes etched there, the bone-deep hum still present and grating on his raw nerves.  _Still the same._  But how had he gotten here?

Stark was talking again.

"Hey, anybody home? Mr. Mischief? No sleepy sleepy time, can you hear me now?" The irritating mortal seemed to hide a smile, as though something funny had suddenly occurred to him, but he kept it in check, still staring at the god.

"Yes...Stark. No need to shout." Loki attempted to sit up on one elbow, but found the world swimming, although the heaviness he had been experiencing was slowly drifting away.

"I wasn't shouting," the mortal pouted.

"I believe you were."

"No I wasn't." Stark was still staring at him.  _Why does he continue to do that? Am I so interesting?_  Even so, it was obvious that Stark was being serious, which was an accomplishment and...somewhat of a worry. Loki could see fear behind those brown eyes, however well-hidden. "You okay?" was the mortal's next strange question.

"What do you care?"

"Oh, I dunno, " began Stark. "Maybe because you just crash landed on my floor, in my tower, on my  _planet_. And what the hell  _was_ that!" He was definitely shouting now, Loki winced and sat up.

He really didn't care about anything Stark had to say, but answered anyway, "What the hell was what?"

"What?  _What?!_ "  _Stop yelling, Stark_ , Loki cringed, but the mortal was already speaking again. "One second I'm getting the shit scared out of me by some...by some  _flying darkness_  that just, supposedly, walked through  _that_  door," he pointed at the entrance to the room, "but instead I find a certain super-villain Norse god of mischief smashing his head into my floor."

Loki winced at every shouted word, not even caring about what the mortal would think.

"And where the hell is everybody?!" the mortal finished.

"What?" Loki looked at him questioningly.

"'What'- stop asking me what! I don't know what!" he was yelling again, Loki wanted to clamp his hand over the mortal's mouth- or go back to sleep. "I wake up, and there's nobody here. There's nobody there- outside, or anywhere! And how the hell did you get here?" The last sentence was surprisingly calmer than the rest of his tirade.

"I...I don't know..." Loki was trying to stand now, but the floor was tilting, or was it his head?

"Woah, woah, no head-smashing again, Mr. Grumpy. I want some answers." Tony was suddenly by Loki's side before the god had a chance to crash back onto the floor. The inventor hesitated for a moment before snaking an arm around Loki's waist in order to support the swaying god. "Okay fine," Tony said, resigned, "let's just get outta this room first. Then answers."

Loki wasn't in the mood, or the desired health, to argue, so he allowed the smaller man to move him out of the room, albeit in a somewhat undignified stumbling way that had Loki frequently reaching out to lean on a wall for added support.

.

The ride up the strange Midgardian moving-box, called an elevator, if Loki recalled correctly, was smooth enough, although he felt strangely trapped, if only for a moment in the metal contraption. The shackles were incredibly irritating, although the chains were conveniently long, and it made Stark's attempt to support the god more difficult. The self-proclaimed genius' head poked out from under Loki's arm as Stark was slightly hunched to allow the god's arm over his shoulders. Loki couldn't help but feel annoyed at the stance he was forced to endure thanks to the length of chain, as though in a mock embrace around Stark's form.

Loki briefly wondered why the mortal would be helping him at all, and not, say, escorting him to a cell, instead of the couch they were so clearly now approaching. With a resounding grunt, Stark deposited the heavy god on the cream-colored couch, then stepped back, slightly confused.

 _Now what is he looking at?_  Stark was staring away, somewhere behind Loki. And now to the other side, and now up and around.

"And what the hell is this now?!" Stark fumed, although it was clear he was more confused than angry. Loki was just happy that the mortal's yelling was no longer beating his head as though Mjolnir itself rode the sound. Loki tilted his head to look where Stark was staring, the mortal's confusion confusing Loki in return.

"What are you staring at Stark?" Loki peeked over the back of the couch, still wondering what had caused the mortal's reaction.

"Again with the what's! It's fucking dark outside!" Loki sighed and lay back down on the couch.

"It's dark." Had the mortal lost his mind? "Is there something wrong with it being night-"

"But it's the middle of the afternoo-" Stark looked at his watch, then froze.  _What is it now?_  Loki was becoming irritated with the mortal. His behavior becoming more and more strange with each passing moment. "This can't be right," Stark sat on the coffee table next to Loki. "Jarvis?"

 _"Yes, sir?"_  Loki jerked up, looking around.  _Is there someone else in here?_  The voice came from everywhere.

"What time is it?" asked Stark.

_"The time is one forty-two p.m., sir."_

Stark mumbled something about 'what the hell.'

"Jarvis? It was one forty-two when I woke up, why's it still one forty-two?" Loki stared at the ceiling, wondering what the problem was, and where that voice was coming from.

_"Yes, sir."_

"That wasn't a yes or no question, Jarvis. Tell me why you still think it's one forty-two."

 _"I am at a loss to answer, sir. My internal chronometer shows that it is in fact one forty-two p.m. fifty-one seconds."_  Tony tilted his head, then said nothing. Loki only stared at him. After a few moments, he started speaking to the air again.

"What about now?"

_"The time is one forty-two p.m., sir."_

Stark jumped up, "What the hell, Jarvis! It was definitely nine seconds since you last told me the time. It's one forty- _three_  now!" He looked at his watch, then muttered curses Loki couldn't quite make out. "One...forty...two." The mortal furrowed his brow then let out a frustrated sigh that sounded more like a growl.

"Stark," Loki asked, "what is happening?"

Stark ignored him and walked slowly over to the window. Loki tried sitting up, his curiosity running wild. Stark was staring out the window, frozen in place like a statue.  _I tire of this..._  Loki managed to sit up, but was having trouble standing up.  _What's happened to me? Was I this injured before I arrived here?_  He could barely remember what had happened on Asgard. He remembered his cell. He remembered his broth-  _no not brother_ -Thor visiting him frequently. Then... he couldn't remember. There was a memory in the back of his mind, itchy and whispering, as though it wanted out, to come into the light. He remembered...pain. But where did the pain come from? Loki shook the thoughts away, concentrating on the mortal standing by the window.

"Stark?"

No response. Loki's heart began to beat faster.

"Stark? What's wrong?"

Still nothing. The mortal was staring out the window, back turned, unmoving.  _What is he doing?_  Loki looked out the window as he, somewhat ungracefully, stumbled toward the mortal.

Darkness.

_What?_

There was nothing. No buildings. No streets. No sky or stars. Nothing but blackness like a blanket outside the window.  _Wasn't there a city there..?_  But there was nothing, no one. Up or down, in every direction. Stark's words to him earlier rang in Loki's ears,  _'I wake up, and there's nobody here. There's nobody there- outside, or anywhere!'_  Loki tripped slighty before reaching Stark, his knee cracking on the hard floor.  _Damn this! What's wrong with me?_  Without his magic he wouldn't heal as fast, but he was more annoyed that he didn't even  _remember_  how or even  _who_  had injured him.

Stark was within arm's reach now, and Loki decided to pull himself up using the mortal's weight, all the better to make the genius stumble with him. But Stark was still standing silently. So calm, unmoving. Loki couldn't bring himself to touch him. The god stared up at the mortal's back, suddenly thinking he didn't want him to turn around. His heart beat harshly through his ears, his breath caught in his throat.

Loki's hand was outstretched, frozen, about to do something- he suddenly couldn't remember what. The human didn't move.

There was somebody whispering near Loki's ear. He jerked his head around, staring with wide-eyes around the living room. But there was no one. Just the couch and coffee table and silence.

Loki turned back around to ask Stark, but the mortal's face caused the god to jerk back and fall on his back, his stomach jumping into his throat. The face wasn't exactly a face anymore; although it still somewhat resembled Tony Stark. The mouth was wide open, as though a yawn had gone wrong and opened his face up passed the point of possibility. There came no sounds, the mouth frozen as though in a scream. And the eyes- there  _were no eyes_. Just pale flesh covering as though the forehead extended down the inhumanly stretched mouth.

Loki scrambled backward, not caring to find out what the hell was happening to the mortal. He crashed into the coffee table, scraping his back on the wood and glass, but continued backing up. Stark didn't move; his face was frozen, his back straight, his stance rigid. But Loki couldn't look anymore, he didn't know what this meant, and he didn't care to find out what the results might be.

He was still on the floor, still stumbling away, running into every piece of damned furniture on the level, or so it seemed to the mischief god.  _What is this? What is this?_  His mind raced. He suddenly realized the error of turning his back on the Stark-thing... _whatever it is..._ and he now wished he hadn't. His knee still hurt, but he ignored the pain, as well as the strange weakness that had plagued him since he had woken up, and continued moving as fast as he could run-stumble-crawl away.

Before Loki could stop, he crashed into something solid- and metal.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sooo, let's see what you all make of this freaky chapter...  
> Have fun, dearies.

Thor had just turned a corner when something crashed right into his chest. He had awakened in a dark room- a  _Midgardian_  dark room, he had noted -face up and diagonally on the large bed. He was still in his armor and the bed had clearly not been slept in, as though he had simply plunked down on top without undressing. In any case, it was not his bed, nor his room. It was clear, after leaving the room, that he was in fact in Avengers Tower, although he could not recall how he got here.

The corridor was the same as all the others, and he had walked barely twenty paces before something had collided with him when he turned the corner.

Thor blinked and leaned down to observe the thing- _person_ -he had knocked down.

"L-Loki?" The younger god hissed and covered his face with both hands, seemingly in pain. "Brother, how did you-" But Loki suddenly jerked his head around, staring wide-eyed in every direction, as though expecting something to pop up any moment.

Thor reached out his arm instinctively to check on his brother, but as he leaned down Loki had already grabbed his arm and was pulling himself up with a visible wince. "Thor..." came the nervous voice of his younger brother. Loki's eyes still darted around, confusion mixed with apprehension clear on his face. When finally his eyes met Thor's, he cocked his head slightly, "Thor?"

"Brother?" Thor stared at him, a brow arched.

"Did you see Stark?" Loki asked, still looking around nervously. The fact that Loki didn't object, or even blink, to Thor's use of the word "brother" concerned the thunder god; the younger was usually absolutely adamant that he not use the familial term. That Loki was still holding onto Thor's arm was also a cause for concern.

"Stark?" Thor's mind suddenly registered that Loki's face was bleeding, a gash near his left temple. "Brother, you are bleeding, did I-"

"No," came the immediate answer, the green eyes darted around, now looking behind Thor toward the corridor. "Have you seen  _Stark_?"

_Why is Loki acting this way? What's happened?_

"No, I have not seen Stark." Something suddenly occurred to Thor. "Are you...are you saying that Stark did this to you?" It was becoming apparent that Loki hadn't let go of Thor because he needed him for support. His little brother wavering on unsteady legs.

Loki's eyes snapped to Thor's, "No...yes. I-I do not know..."

"Is it no or yes, brother?" Thor asked, confusion growing. Loki stepped closer to his brother, who now noticed a slight limp in the younger sibling's steps, as he still held on, grip tightening.

"I do not know," he whispered as he eyed the room he had just come from, as though an unseen menace lurked there. The thunder god's confusion was growing by the minute. His brother was not one to show fear, and even if he were, he certainly was not one to cling to Thor because of it.  _Something is terribly wrong_ , Thor thought. His brother was hurt, this was clear, but there was an obvious apprehension bordering on panic in his body language.

Thor gently grabbed the mischief god by the shoulders, trying to get him to give a straight answer, "Loki." The trickster glared at Thor and he momentarily tried to get away, but he quickly gave up and sagged in the thunderer's grip. "Loki what has happened? How did we get here? Did I bring you here? You are still in shackles. Why do I not remember?"

Loki breathed through his nose and stared at Thor, one unsteady hand on the older god's chest, as if to keep him at arm's length, "I would answer you, Thor, if I had any answers myself, but I know the answers to none of those questions." He nervously glanced around again, removing his hand from Thor's chest, then half-whispered, "Now can we go somewhere else. I do not wish to be in this room any longer." He looked back at Thor for a moment before continuing his strange new habit of looking around.

Thor nodded and let his brother go, before realizing he shouldn't have done that as the trickster fell unceremoniously onto the floor.

.

Loki's tale seemed preposterous, and yet Thor could not deny the evidence. They had not found Stark- even after Thor had insisted they check the living room area for him, to Loki's constant protestations -and there was, indeed, a blanketing darkness that covered the sky and the city. And although they had not checked the entire tower for signs of other human life, they had not encountered anyone else, which also supported Stark's own claim of there being a lack of people. The two had taken the elevator down a few levels- this time to Loki's insistence -and were picking through the kitchen, or, at least, Thor was.

"Thor, how can you eat at a time like this?" he stared at the thunder god as Thor inhaled another pop-tart.

Loki was sitting on the counter fiddling with a steak knife he had plucked from the grey marble surface. His slightly swaying feet casually dangling off the side suddenly struck Thor as contradictory; his memories of their innocent childhood clashing with Loki's deadly skill with a knife.

"What?" Thor replied, indignant. "There is never a time  _not_  to eat, dear brother."

Loki scoffed, "Now you sound like Volstagg."

"Very well then; there is never a time not to eat  _pop-tarts_ ," he smirked passed another bite. But his brother was right: this was not an ideal time for such revelry, so Thor took the last bite and stuffed the box into a random cupboard nearby. "What do you suggest we do otherwise, brother?"

Loki stared at the floor in thought, "I do not know. Perhaps we should try the lowest level, there may be a way to get outside, ask Heimdall to take us back to Asgard."

The fact that his brother was asking to return home- no doubt to his prison cell -spoke volumes about how much Loki wanted out of this situation. Despite the fact that his younger brother reveled in chaos, indeed enough to be named the god of it, he still did not care for it when  _he_   _himself_  was not the cause of it. Lack of control made Loki nervous, and Thor knew it.

"Or perhaps," Loki continued, "we should try the roof, instead. It's much closer and wouldn't require such a long stay in that metal can the Midgardians insist on using for transportation." They both knew they could use the stairs, but Loki was still injured and Thor wasn't about to carry him. Not that Thor would mind carrying his younger brother, it was just that the same younger brother would probably do something like poison every pop-tart in existence if Thor insisted on carrying him. No. Not a good idea. He likes his pop-tarts.

So the two agreed and the thunder god helped the mischief god off the counter, then wrapped his shackled arms around and over his shoulders for support.

 

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Loki knew Thor wanted to carry him, just as he had when they were younger, but he would crawl on his hands and knees before he allowed that to happen. It didn't matter that there was no one around to see, Loki didn't care about that- even if it would have annoyed him. His dignity he could do without if necessary, and oh so often did he have to endure  _that_ , but this was about  _them_ , and their 'relationship.' He was tolerating the oaf's insistence on the word  _brother_ , but he'd be damned before he allowed Thor to do something as  _sentimental_  as carry him. No.  _None of that_ , he told himself.  _I've endured the idiot's rants about love and family and gods know what else, but I will not have that._

They walked, albeit slowly, down the corridor to the elevator. Loki couldn't fathom how he had injured his own knee, and for no other reason than his own stupidity, and was beginning to scratch at the itch at the back of his memory. "Thor," he began slowly, "do you...do you remember what happened before you awakened here?"

Thor shook his head and pushed the button for the highest floor, "No, brother. However, I do recall walking toward your prison cell."

"Oh? On Asgard?" There was a pause before the elevator doors closed.

Thor nodded, "I was visiting...although I do not remember much other than that..." he furrowed his brow and watched the steadily climbing numbers above the door.

"My memory is much the same; although it seems my memories from days- or perhaps even months -before have been affected as well."

Thor's silence was uncharacteristic, and Loki wondered what was happening in that big blonde head of his.

 

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Thor didn't want to tell him that he  _did_  remember everything else- at least of the days and months before -but he remained silent. He remembered visiting Loki everyday in his cell. He remembered how Loki only glared at him or argued with him or ignored him completely. It was difficult and he wanted his brother back. He wanted to unshackle his brother and watch him laugh as he caused mischief with his magic and his silver-tongued words. But there was no going back, was there? That brother was dead, lost in the abyss of his own making. No one else wanted to forget or even to forgive, and Thor had had enough of it. He knew Loki was being mistreated in his cell, but the guards would not speak of it and Loki himself insisted Thor was imagining things. Thor had sighed and visited often, trying to make up for whatever he had done to change the younger god so much. Thor wasn't an idiot. He knew he wasn't the brother he should have been all those centuries, and when he had finally changed...so had Loki. It was like passing someone on the river; Thor toward its end and Loki toward the waterfall's edge. And when the thunderer reached out his hand in aid, the trickster only scowled and paddled faster to his doom.

 

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The thunder god's hand suddenly shot out, pushing a button for the nearest floor just as the elevator stopped.

"Thor?" Loki looked questioningly at the older god. He stepped out of the elevator on the top floor, and Loki had no choice but to be dragged along. "What's wrong? Did you remember something?"

Thor only shook his head, a solemn expression on his face. He stepped to the side and leaned against the wall as the elevator's doors closed. "Loki...is there no way to mend this?"

The trickster stared at him, dumbfounded.  _Is this really the time to talk about this?_  Loki thought. "Thor, if Heimdall cannot hear us then-"

"You know very well what I am speaking of, Loki," Thor all but growled. Loki was taken aback. But yes, of course he knew.

"Thor... this is not the time for this discussion. If- and when -we get back to Asgard, I give you my solemn vow, I will sit down and endure hours and hours of you lecturing me on family and love...and all of those ridiculous sentimentalities you so gallantly speak of; but  _right now_ , we need to _leave this place_."

Thor's face was lowered enough that Loki couldn't see his face, even this close up. "Why must we always fight?" Loki mentally face-palmed.  _What is wrong with you, Thor? Must you always insist on speaking of such things? Even when the situation is so dire?_  He sighed heavily, knowing the downcast Thor would hear him.

A voice tickled Loki's ear. He thought Thor was whispering under his breath at first, but then realized the sound was coming from the opposite direction from the thunder god...and so near his ear. Loki glanced toward the direction of the whispered sound to his left, but saw only the elevator doors. Silent and metallic, nothing there.

Then he heard a quiet sniffle. Loki jerked his head back to stare at Thor.  _Is he...crying?_  The mischief god was beside himself. Thor never cried, it was one of the fundamental laws of the universe; and he certainly never cried for something as trivial as  _this_.

"Why..." Thor's voice was thick, shaky. "Why must you always reject me, Loki? Why can you not simply accept your family's love?" His head was still down, and tears were definitely falling onto his armor with a metallic  _tink_. Loki would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so unnerved at Thor's behavior at the moment. "We have tried to show you...  _I_  have tried to show you that we will always love you. No matter what you do; we will always be your family..."

 _Even for Thor this is getting overly sentimental_ , Loki thought. He heard quiet sobs as Thor moved his unsupporting right hand to the nape of Loki's neck, like he always did.

 _Sentiment,_  Loki grumbled to himself.

"This," Thor continued, head still low, not showing his face, "this cannot be my brother. I cannot..." Thor's hand was slowly snaking around to the front of Loki's neck. The smaller god felt his heart beat faster at the strange movement, his breathing increasing. But the thunder god was speaking again, still crying, "...I... you cannot be my brother. You are...not..."

"Thor..." Loki said in warning, although he couldn't hide the slight lilt in his voice. The hand was getting tighter around his throat. "Thor, what are you doing?"

"No..." Thor was now sobbing and pulling Loki closer, tighter, as though afraid the younger god would disappear. And his hand was not letting up.

"Thor stop. Put me down-" the grip was getting tighter, cutting off his air. "Thor, please stop. Let me..go!" But the thunder god wasn't letting go, and he wasn't crying anymore either. Loki gasped for air and tried in vain with only one hand to release Thor's titan grip, his right hand still uselessly slung around Thor's shoulders.

 _What's happening?! Why is he doing this?!_  Thoughts rolled uselessly around Loki's head, trying to make sense of what was happening. Thor had never before tried to harm Loki- well, without provocation, and even then it was obvious Thor was holding back. There was a kind of unnerving desperation in Thor's demeanor, as though strangling this new brother would bring back the old.

"Thor...stop...you're...killing me!" Loki managed to croak out, but the thunder god's grip was only tightening. He tried to lash out, do  _something_ , kick, gouge, scratch, but to no avail. Thor was too strong and determined, Loki too injured and panicked.

Darkness was beginning to seep into the edges of Loki's vision just as his mind pushed something to the front of his thoughts.  _The knife_. Loki felt a single tear fall down his face.  _The knife!_  With his left hand Loki grabbed the kitchen knife from the inside slot of his surcoat, then, without a second thought stabbed Thor somewhere below his face.

Immediately Loki was free, his form falling onto the carpeted floor below.

.

The god of mischief was gasping for air, coughing and choking on the floor. He didn't know where Thor was, and he couldn't find the strength to even wonder at the moment. But no sooner had he recovered from his attempted strangulation that the god of thunder was on him. Upon a quick glance, it seemed Thor had all but ignored the knife, which was still sticking out from his throat.  _How is he still alive?_  Loki wondered in exasperation. Thor was powerful, nearly unstoppable, but he relied on blood and right now, it was leaking all over the place- especially on Loki.

"Thor-" Loki choked out before the very heavy thunder god was sitting on his chest and unleashing bone-shattering punch after another. Thor's face was  _terrifying_. Loki had never seen an angrier expression on his face before. The tears had dried and his face was etched with a permanent fury, blood splashing down in waves.

Loki had no illusions about it, even healthy and not scared out of his mind he was no match for Thor, especially without weapons, and even more so in this position. He doubted even the most powerful spell would deter the fierceness of his once-brother in this moment.

But before Thor had gotten in a half-dozen punches, he stood up and grabbed Loki by the neck, then sent the trickster flying head first through a nearby wooden door. Loki cried out as he landed, but didn't have time to move as the angry god had grabbed the chain on his shackles and was now dragging him back out into the same corridor and down the length of it.  _What does he intend to do with me?_  It was somehow obvious to Loki  _what_  Thor's intentions were, but he had a hard time reconciling with the idea that the man who called him 'brother' was really trying to kill him. The evidence was mounting in favor of the horror he didn't want to acknowledge, and being dragged by his shackles really wasn't helping either.

"Thor...where are you taking me?" he heard his own voice say, although he didn't quite remember thinking it before he said it. "Why are you-"

They stopped. Thor turned around, his face even angrier,  _if that were even possible_ , Loki thought. His once-brother moved quickly toward him, then leaned down without missing a step and landed with a sharp knee on Loki's chest- his other knee on the floor. The trickster gasped and strained to cough, wary of what Thor would do next. It was becoming clear he had somehow angered Thor by even speaking, so Loki clamped his mouth shut.

It didn't seem to matter, as the thunder god viciously grabbed Loki's left hand and without a second thought broke a finger. Loki screamed through his teeth at the unexpected pain exploding up his arm. "Thor, please-!" He screamed again as Thor broke another finger. Loki was gasping, shaking. In other circumstances, the pain would have been bearable, but here and now, with his magic bound and his brother doing the deed- it was somehow so much worse. Loki looked away and grit his teeth as tears fell down his face.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Thor moving, letting go of his broken fingers and reaching for the knife- the knife still stuck in his neck, which was still bleeding profusely. Somewhere in the back of Loki's mind he was worried for Thor, worried he would die from all the blood-loss. That somehow, all of this was simply a punishment for his misdeeds. But that part of him was buried too deep and too far, hidden behind a stalwart wall of jealousy and unbidden anger, reinforced by the fear and anguish currently coursing through his body. Right now, all Loki could think was,  _Thor has a knife..._

The thunder god was leaning in, slowly and quietly, weapon in hand, face darkened by shadows, his knee crushing deeper into Loki's chest. The trickster might have cared about his ribs if it wasn't for the knife slowly inching toward his throat.

"Thor, I beg you, please stop-" the knife was touching him now, warm and wet, jagged against his neck, ready to cut. Loki heard a whimper escape his trembling lips, his eyes clenched shut. "No...please  _don't!_   _Brother!_ "

A sudden jerk made Loki open his eyes, just as Thor's form disappeared from his vision, the knife harmlessly thudding on the floor beside his head. He gasped for air he didn't realize he had lacked then peeked down without sitting up. He soon realized Thor wasn't gone, that he had simply been pushed onto his back, somewhere near Loki's feet. And the thunder god was struggling, thrashing, moving as though a great force were shaking his entire form.

Loki tried to lift his head more but lay back down with a cry as the pain shot like lightning throughout his body. Thor was still flipping about like a fish out of water, and the trickster wondered what could have happened. Even so, he wasn't about to let this opportunity go. As best he could, he ignored the pain with gritted teeth, and moved using his legs- or perhaps his one good leg -to slide away from the thrashing thunder god.

 _Please don't get up...Please don't get up..._  His mind raced, repeating the mantra like a prayer.

Then suddenly the thrashing stopped. And next, the lights blinked out.

.

Almost as quickly as the lights had gone out, they returned; steady but slightly dimmer than before. But what Loki saw next...he wished the lights hadn't come back on. His heart felt as though it had been crushed in his chest, his lungs ripped out, his body utterly numb. Loki had, painstakingly, managed to sit up slightly with the help of a chair his head had bumped into. He stared straight at Thor, eyes wide, not believing what they were seeing. The god of mischief would have swallowed if he was able, but instead he vomited violently to the side.

The thing before him, sitting up slowly, was not his brother anymore. There were no more arms- all the way up the shoulders, bleeding and torn as though someone had ripped them out of their sockets. That was not what had caused Loki's panic the most, however, for Thor was also missing his head. The neck was also removed, and blood poured out of the wound across the front of the thunder god's silver armor. Neither his limbs, nor his head were visible anywhere.

Loki couldn't move. He only stared, his body numb, useless. Thoughts wouldn't form, his mind screaming without words. There was too much blood, too much coming out of everywhere.  _No head, no head, no head_ , his mind repeated over and over and over.

The thing that was is brother was somehow on its feet now. Staring- if that were possible -in the direction of Loki, unmoving on steady legs. The trickster only continued to stare, still half-laying on the floor, unable to move, his breath caught somewhere in his throat, not escaping the trembling lips.

 _How is this possible?!_ His mind managed before the headless thing lurched forward in a stumbling gait. But Loki's body had already moved, unbidden, crashing and stumbling in a panic away from the horror and blood walking toward him. He scrambled backward, every injury forgotten, then finally found his feet as he ran straight toward the only escape he knew: the elevator doors.

The headless thing continued walking forward, albeit in a stumbling sort of way, seemingly following Loki's every movement away. The thing was frighteningly fast despite its inhuman gait, and Loki smashed the lit-up button repeatedly for the metal doors to open. His back and head were flat against the cold metal, staring with horrified wide eyes as the bloodied thing approached quickly.

 _Open! Open! Open, damn you!_  But the doors didn't budge.

He didn't want to look at it any longer, he didn't want to watch the headless body lurching forward, barely ten steps away now, seemingly reaching forward with invisible arms to catch the fleeing prey.

_Open!_

The metal doors finally slid open, as Loki, unaware of it, crashed backward into the small room. He didn't feel the pain, nor hear the  _crack_ , as he rushed up in a panic to push the button for the roof. His fingers trembled as he tried to focus on the buttons, finally finding the right one as it lit up. The Thor-thing was only a few steps away as Loki smashed repeatedly at the button to close the doors.

_No, no, no, no...close! Close!_

The doors finally slid closed silently, as Loki shut his eyes and fell to the floor in a heap, the sight of blood no longer distinguishable from a familiar red cape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooohohoho... what the he heck was that, huh? My brain is weird. Yes. So, what's everyone think is going on, eh?
> 
> Also, not sure if it's obvious yet, but a period by itself is an indicator of time passing (even if it's just a few seconds or whatever). The dotted line is for perspective change.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve Rogers didn't know what to do. He was scared, he acknowledged it, but he wasn't about to give up. Only problem was, there didn't seem to be anything he could do in his current situation.

He had woken up with the feeling of something harsh on his face, just as the same harshness greeted his hands. He was face-down on some hard surface- something gravely and cold. He had immediately jerked up, and had just as soon realized he was on the roof of some building. He briefly wondered how he had gotten here, before he recognized that this was the roof of Stark's tower,  _or Avenger's Tower_ , as it was now called. Next, he took in his surroundings. What he at first thought was an overcast night sky soon turned out to be nothing but blackness. His mind couldn't comprehend it, he wanted to dismiss it as nothing but a nighttime sky, but every rational part of Steve's mind said:  _'No, then there would be stars, or at least a dim light from the city...or maybe at least a city...'_

But there was no city. There wasn't  _anything_. Just a pitch black darkness all around, although for some odd reason, he could still make out the tower well enough, as though an invisible light source were hidden in the inky blackness.

The single protrusion on the quiet rooftop belonged to the elevator; which was, to Steve's great annoyance, somehow locked from use. He could only surmise that it was some sort of security measure, no doubt meant to prevent tower access to outside intruders. A keypad lit up above the call button,  _too bad Tony didn't think it important enough to give to us_. And he had no success in prying the doors open manually.

Steve shook his head and sighed.

So he sat down next to the doors, and waited, and waited, and waited.

 _Someone will find me here, won't they?_  The darkness did not answer.

.

The ding of the elevator startled Steve, but he didn't have time to jump up when a blurry black and green figure immediately crashed, as though tripped, onto the threshold of the elevator. Only half the body had made it out, while the bottom half remained within the small space.

Steve leapt up to help, crouching down next to the leather-clad person, who was shaking from head to toe.

"Hey," Steve said softly, "hey, you okay-"

He froze.  _Loki?_  Steve turned the figure over, careful not to upset him, especially after noticing the copious amounts of blood that covered almost every inch of the limp form. The shackles gave him pause, but of a good kind, as he wondered how the trickster could possibly be in their tower. The soldier couldn't remember anything. Couldn't remember how he had gotten here, or what he had been doing before he awoke. He shook his head,  _not important right now_.

"Hey, Loki, can you hear me?" The younger brother of Thor was trembling, his fists clenched and his wide-eyes glossed over, as though he didn't know where he was. Steve sighed, feeling sympathy wash over him. "Loki, hey, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. What happened?"

The doors of the elevator were trying to close, and Steve remembered that he shouldn't let them close lest they both be stranded here. So, with considerable effort so as not to disturb any potential injuries, he moved the still shaking god back into the elevator and let the doors shut behind them.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Loki didn't know what to do, what to think, or even how to think, at the moment. There was someone near him, he knew, someone strong enough to move him around fairly easily. He knew he should hurt, he should hurt all over, but his mind refused to let him feel anything. But the cold, he could feel the cold. There was a warm body nearby, behind the trickster's half-sitting form in the elevator, supporting him- _Elevator?_  Loki's thoughts suddenly crashed in.  _The elevator... Running... headless... Thor!_ He clenched his eyes shut until his head swam. He followed his memory back.  _Thor... blood... so much blood. Darkness... Stark..._  There was nothing before that, only memories of a past better left buried for now.

He allowed his eyes open, if only so he could peer up and see who was kind- or foolish -enough to hold him up. The worried expression of the man known as Captain America stared down at him.

"C-captain..." Loki croaked out. He wanted to say more, but the words died before reaching his mouth. He now realized he was shivering, shaking, he wasn't certain why and he couldn't stop.

"Hey, Loki," came the captain's nervous response. "Are you...okay?"

 _Why is he being so kind to me?_ The trickster remembered Stark saying something similar. "No," Loki breathed out, uncaring of the revealed truth, wishing he could conjure more words.

He suddenly wanted to cry. He wanted to cry and not care who saw; but his disciplined mind refused to let him in front of the mortal.  _None of that, not right now. Control yourself..._

Steve Rogers was shifting, "Okay..." The captain looked uncomfortable holding the mischief god's weight. "You wanna tell me what happened to you?"

Loki hesitated, but managed a word, "Thor-" but he couldn't continue, the words withered in his mouth like ashes left to choke after a ravaging fire.

"Thor? Where's Thor? Did he come with you?" the captain questioned warily.

Loki only shook his head, uncertain how to answer. Had he come with Thor? He cursed his failed memory but simultaneously wished he could forget... "He's- he's..."  _No..._ He shut his eyes again, not realizing he wasn't breathing.

"Hey, hey," came the other man's worried voice, "it's okay. What happened?" Loki couldn't let his breath out. "Loki," the captain was shifting again; Loki opened his eyes to stare at him. "Loki, you need to breathe." The trickster suddenly realized he was holding his breath, so he let out a loud gasp, suddenly in need of air. "Good, good. Breathe, just breathe."

 _So pathetic!_  Loki screamed at himself. He loathed his current position. So vulnerable and pathetically being coached by a  _mortal_  on how he should continue breathing.

Loki jumped when the elevator's doors suddenly opened, like the gaping maw of a terrible beast he had forgotten was so near.

"It's just the elevator doors." The captain was moving, as though he were about to help Loki up. "Can you move? We should probably get off here."

The mischief god couldn't move; he only stared with rigid body out the opened door. "No...no..." he whispered.

"What's that?" the captain leaned down slightly, brow furrowed. Loki couldn't help it, he felt panic grip every part of his body, his instincts flaring up, screaming at him to run, fight, do  _something_  other than lay there helplessly until- _until what?_  The... _headless thing_  was nowhere in sight, and, it seemed they were on a much lower level anyway. The captain seemed to notice Loki's panicked state. "What's wrong, Loki?"

But the trickster only shook his head adamantly, although somewhat calmer after looking up at the numbered door and realizing they were in fact on a different level altogether.

"Let's," Rogers said, "just...get off here, huh?" Loki finally nodded as the captain started helping him up.

The god of mischief sighed. He was tired of people helping him even  _walk_ , and now he couldn't even stand up properly without help. He winced when a sharp pain shot up his arm.

"Wow. What happened to your fingers?" The captain seemed to reconsider his words. "Actually, what happened to you, period?" Loki was finally standing, after considerable effort on his part to not whimper at every pain in his body. "Not much for talking now days are you?" The trickster only glared at him.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

_What's wrong with him?_  Steve wondered. Almost every question he asked was either ignored or answered insufficiently. He knew  _something_  had happened with Thor, but he couldn't be certain what.  _Was it Thor who did this to his own brother?_  Steve internally shook his head,  _ridiculous. Thor adores Loki, whether or not that adoration is returned. No... What could have happened?_

The two were moving passed some closed doors which lined both sides of the corridor. The only sounds were of shifting feet, heavy breathing, and clinking shackles.

 _Maybe something happened to Thor?_  Steve couldn't help speculating.  _That might explain why Loki refuses to talk about it._  That didn't seem likely; would he care this much? Steve admitted he didn't know very much about the trickster and his brother, though, so he didn't want to judge. But still... the guy didn't seem very sentimental- especially while trying to kill his older brother.

"Loki," Steve decided to try again, he wanted answers. "I don't suppose you want to tell me who did this to you?"

The chaos god seemed somewhat less frazzled and had stopped shaking. Even so, he didn't answer, until, "Thor."  _What?_  Steve stopped. "And...I don't really know..." Loki didn't finish his sentence.

Steve stared at him, " _What?_ " He couldn't believe it. "Did-did you say  _Thor_  did this to you? He...hurt you?"  _I suppose it's possible,_ Steve thought,  _if they got into a fight._  But Steve still couldn't believe it. Two of Loki's fingers seemed deliberately broken and there were... _marks_  on Loki's neck. "Did you...did you two get into a fight or someth-"

"No!" the trickster jerked away, falling onto a nearby wall. He seemed to be hyperventilating suddenly. "He-he did this to me! He-" Loki was out of breath. "I did...nothing against him. He just..." Steve felt bad. He knew Loki was considered the god of lies, but this was too real. Too undignified and too desperate for a man as typically graceful and collected as he was. There was no lie in his eyes.

"I believe you." Steve said finally, holding out two hands to calm the god, although he didn't approach.

Loki seemed caught off guard, even suspicious. He tilted his head, "You...you do?"

Steve nodded, somehow not believing himself, "Where is he now? Still in the building?" Loki suddenly seemed about to burst into tears, and was trying his best to keep his composure against the wall. The captain decided to change the subject, but was interrupted by an odd sound. Something of a high-pitched continuous whine permeated the air.

"What's that?" came Loki's whispered voice as he still tried to collect himself.

Steve rounded the next corner, which was only a few steps away, leaving the wary mischief god where he leaned against the wall. "I don't know..." the captain heard himself say. "Stay here, I'll-" but he already saw where the sound was coming from. Or at least, where he thought it was coming from.  _What in the..._

Avenger's Tower has a lot of built-in screens. Screens for watching television,  _or whatever they use them for nowadays_ , screens for research and whatever else struck the residents' fancy. They lined every corridor and room, invisible until used. Some larger than others, some holographic and easily manipulated. And right now, every single one of them had the same black and white picture on them.

"What is this?" Loki's voice floated down the corridor toward Steve. The captain quickly returned to the trickster. "Captain Rogers?"

Steve shook his head. He recognized the picture; something typically used when television stations went off the air; either at night-time or whenever the signal went out. The black and white lines and circles with a head of an Indian chief at the top all too familiar to the captain.  _But.._  Steve also knew that they no longer used this particular picture on televisions anymore.

Both men stared at the screens that had popped up everywhere, lining every corridor and filling the air with an irritatingly pervasive high-pitched noise.

"Captain," Loki tried again. "What is happen-" But the screens and the noise had cut off suddenly.

Silence.

Nothing but their matched quick breathing lingered in the air. Both men looked around nervously, not quite fearful, but certainly apprehensive. "Tell me you saw that," the captain was glad his voice didn't shake.

Loki nodded his head twice, "Yes. Yes I did. What was it?"

Steve continued eyeing their surroundings suspiciously, expecting the screens to flicker back on. "I don't-I mean, just...Just something from," he shook his head, "a long time ago..."

"A...long time ago." Loki deadpanned, somewhat confused. He sighed. "It is...not the worst thing to happen," his voice trailed off, the trickster's face darkening with thought.

Steve wondered if he should try asking again but thought better of it at the last moment.  _No_ , he thought, his curiosity could wait.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The god of mischief was fairly confused, but that was nothing to complain about given what had already happened. Steve Rogers was not the most unpleasant man to deal with, but his lack of knowledge on more modern Midgardian matters was lacking. Of course, Loki did not know any better himself, but that was beside the point.  _The man is from this realm, he should have learned by now_ , Loki huffed.

As if the soldier had heard the trickster's thoughts about his incompetence with technology, he spoke to the air, "Jarvis?" the captain said reluctantly.

Loki stared at him,  _that- whatever it was -Stark was speaking to earlier?_  But there was no answer as the captain peered questioningly at the ceiling.

"Jarvis? Are you...there?" The captain looked somewhat ridiculous, although he reminded Loki of talking to Heimdall-  _Heimdall!_  Loki cursed his own stupidity.  _I never called out to Heimdall!_  But he knew it would be foolish now... _without_... He shook his head, tears threatening to build behind his aching eyes. None of it made sense,  _nothing_  about what had happened made any sense.

Loki started down the corridor on his own, supporting himself with his undamaged hand and forearm on the wall. He didn't care for the captain's presence at the moment. He wasn't going anywhere, he just didn't feel like facing the mortal...or anyone-

There was someone whispering near his ear again.  _What is that?!_ Loki glared at the ceiling, as though this 'Jarvis' somehow held the answers.

"Where do you think you're going?" came a stern voice behind him.

"Captain?" Loki turned around in time to see a white metal object which collided with his head. Next, he met the floor, and then there was nothing.

.

Loki woke to a sharp pain jarring his head, jerking it to the side. He groaned and slowly opened his eyes, a blinding bright light somewhere overhead. The next thing Loki noticed was that he was in a sitting position, and that his arms had, somehow and despite the shackles, been moved behind him, behind the chair's stiff metal back.

 _What is this?_  Loki wondered. The last thing he remembered was-  _the captain!_  He had knocked Loki out with...something. Loki wasn't certain what.  _Why would he-?_

Another sharp pain jolted Loki back to what was in front of him. He realized it was a hand, slapping him across the face.

"What-" Loki began, but the hand struck him again.

"Where is Stark?" a low voice spoke from the dark. It was bright where Loki was sitting, but all around, there was darkness. He was in a room, the trickster knew, but he couldn't tell where or even what type of room. " _Where is Tony Stark?!_ " the voice yelled more firmly. Loki stopped looking around and jerked his head toward the voice. He could see only the shoes of the person in front of him.  _Steve Rogers?_ The mischief god recognized the boots, and now, also the voice.  _Was his voice always so...menacing?_  "Answer me, Asgardian." The voice was calm again, low.  _What?_  It was definitely the captain,  _but why is he..?_  Loki sighed.  _Him, too?_  It was starting to become clear to the trickster that every Avenger he met somehow... _changed_ , after a while. He knew enough about the good captain to know that this was very much out of character for him.

Loki instinctively jerked his head away from an anticipated slap, but the Avenger stopped short. The man had taken a slow deliberate step closer, his hands now clasped behind his back. Loki still couldn't see his face, though, as it was still covered in darkness.  _What an odd light._  Loki looked up as best he could, but the brightness hurt his head.

"Did you not hear me, Asgardian?" came the chilling voice. Loki unconsciously shuddered.

"I..." Loki grit his teeth. "What was the ques-"

Another smack.

"Where is  _Anthony Stark_?" The figure in the dark didn't move.

Loki leaned back, "I don't..."  _Why does he ask such an odd question?_  "Why should I know?"

The man out of time did not move. Loki wished he could see his face. "You met him earlier, didn't you?" Loki stared at him _. How would he know that? I said nothing about_ \- A backhand caught him off guard. "And don't answer questions with questions," said the soft low voice.

The trickster suddenly realized,  _why not answer him?_  "He- the last time I saw him...he was on..." Loki racked his brain, uncertain which level it was that he had left Stark. "I-I do not remember which level of this tower we were on, but it was one of the top ones...I believe." He winced, anticipating another blow, but when none came, he looked back to where the captain had been standing and found that he had moved. Loki looked around, "Captain?"

A voice came from behind him, making Loki jump. "And your brother?" Loki felt the blood drain from his face. How could he explain that? He didn't even understand himself what had happened to-

"What about him?" Loki couldn't help the crack in his voice.

"Did you kill him?" came the all-too-calm voice behind him.

Loki decided it was best not to turn. "I..." he didn't know what to say, panic rising in his stomach, reaching for his heart. "I...do not know."  _Was Thor actually dead? Was I the cause of it?_

"You don't know? How can you not know?" Loki felt a shiver travel up his spine. "You either killed him or you didn't; it's that simple."

"No!" His own yell made him wince, but he couldn't stop now, the emotions fighting to break free. "No, it is  _not_  that  _simple_. I-I don't know what happened, but..." his voice trailed off before he found it again, "...I just. I  _do not know_. One moment he was there, just...himself, the next he... _wasn't_." Loki felt tears threatening in his eyes, aching to be let free.

"So you killed him." It wasn't a question.

"What?!" Loki tried to jerk his head around now, but found that the man was no longer standing there. "No! No I did not kill him! Even though he was trying to kill  _me_." He whipped his head around to the front, where the captain now stood, only his boots visible again, directly in front.

"So that made it alright to kill him? It was self-defense?"

" _Yes_...no..." Loki shook his head, uncertain, confused. He hated these questions. "I  _did not_  kill him, but-"

"Then you would have killed him if you had the chance? If you were capable?"

Loki clenched his eyes shut, a single tear escaping. "No..." he breathed. "I..."

A full-blown punch cut him across the face from the left. Loki, not expecting it, couldn't help the sharp gasp escaping his lips.

" _Don't lie_." The man was standing closer now, knees almost touching Loki's.

"I am not-am not ly-" Another crushing blow from the left as Loki's head jerked. He felt blood dripping down his chin from his lips. "Please, I am  _not_  lyin-" Another hit, then another from the right.

"I said:  _don't lie!_ " Another blow, this time to the stomach. The trickster coughed, blood dripping down his face onto his lap. "You  _wanted_  to kill him, didn't you?! All these years you were  _nothing_  next to him! He was always in your light, never stepping aside! He was bigger,  _tougher_!" A crack across Loki's jaw jerked his head back. "You could never live up to what he was!" He heard a rib crack. "They all said: 'Don't fight! You're too small! Not good enough!'" Another blow. "And you listened to them, didn't you?" Then another. "And, you know what?" Loki's head was being lifted by his hair, his vision too blurry to see the face. "They were  _right_."

Suddenly a kick to the chest forced Loki, and his chair, back onto the hard floor. The god screamed as his arms were crushed under the weight, but his cries were cut short as his head collided with the flat surface.

Loki let out a breath.

Only the sweet embrace of darkness greeted him next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so mean to poor Loki... *sigh*


	5. Chapter 5

Natasha Romanoff had tried to contact Jarvis,  _that damned AI never around when you need it_ , but to no avail. It wasn't responding, and neither was anyone else. Her comm unit was filled with static, as though no one was even there. Even in her frustration at it, she kept it in her ear in case someone  _did_  try to contact her later- although she secretly wanted to throw it on the floor. Of course, normally she wouldn't let her emotions rise, even in the slightest, but there was nothing normal about whatever was going on here.

The pervasive darkness outside, the lack of people, Tony's AI not responding. She didn't panic, being too trained for that, but some small part of her wanted to- to at least feel human in an inhuman time. The place  _breathed_  of the unnatural, and she wanted nothing more than to scream at it to behave and act normally, to take the form of something she could fight, could at least understand. But no. There would be no outbursts. She would control what was within, even if she could not control what was without. Her mind was her sanctuary, and nothing could breach it... Or so she told herself.

She had been systematically checking every floor, hoping to find  _somebody_  on one of them. The main lobby was deserted, and the front doors wouldn't budge.  _A security measure?_  she wondered. Although she couldn't recall that in the building's schematics.

She was a little more than halfway to the top, searching another seemingly deserted floor, when she heard the groan. The Black Widow reached instinctively for her gun, only to remember that she didn't have one.  _Damn._  In fact, she had awakened with  _none_  of her weapons, despite the fact that she was wearing her usual uniform. Even so, she would never walk around without a weapon, so she had found several knives to wield in case she needed them; and right now, she was sure she might.

The floor she entered was strangely darker than most, the lights still on in various corners, mostly lamps, but the air felt closer, stifling in the black. Of course, any windows showed an even darker fate just outside.

Natasha quietly inched toward a room at the end of the hall, knife in hand, her footfalls as silent as a panther's. There was a bright light on in the room ahead, although the light itself was concentrated, barely letting its glow escape into the rest of the room.

She peeked in. To the right was a small kitchenette with an island, and to the left... she held her breath when she caught sight of a body on the floor and backed away immediately to the safety of the shadows.

Somewhere at the back of her mind she thought she heard hurried footsteps behind her, as though someone had passed by.  _No_ , she thought. There was no way for anyone to pass her without her noticing, and there were no other ways to sneak by- just a short hallway and the elevator doors.  _Am I imagining things?_  But there was no time to decide.

She looked back out into the unnaturally contrasted dark and bright room. The blinding light was centered directly on the body, and Natasha finally stepped forward to stalk toward the figure. The brightness obscured the man's face-  _yes, definitely a man_ -and he was on his back in an odd position. Next, she registered that he was sitting on a chair, an overturned chair, on his back. His arms were pinned behind him.  _Ouch._

She was only a few steps away when another breathy groan from the man made her crouch more, ready for anything, knife waiting. Natasha glanced around, wondering who had done this to him. Suddenly very aware of the open and dark floor, she opted to search around first, although she felt somewhat bad for leaving the man alone while she did so. But in the end, it didn't matter. Her instincts never let her leave her back open, even for someone who was hurt.

Satisfied that there was no one else here, she once again approached the man, although somewhat less cautiously. It was obvious he was hurt, and with his hands pinned, he wouldn't be much of a threat. That is, until Natasha got closer and realized who it was on the floor.

.

The green eyes blinked open, before shutting against the impossibly bright light. Natasha didn't know what to think, although her mind was working at a million miles a second.  _Loki? Could he be responsible for what's happening here? Why is here? How did he get here?_  She suddenly found herself wondering how  _she_  had gotten here, her memories passed today blank.  _Where was I before I woke up in the tower?_  she began to wonder again. But she jerked her attention back to Loki when she heard his ragged breaths deepen.  _He's awake._

"Loki." The trickster's jump made her want to jump, but she controlled herself enough to only flinch slightly. It was obvious his eyes were trying to blink away the light, but it wouldn't have mattered, Natasha was in the dark, out of his line of sight. "Loki," she said again. And again, he jumped.  _What could make him so jumpy?_

Finally, he croaked out a word: "W-who?"

Natasha didn't say anything for a time, still trying to figure out what was going on. But she realized Loki might have some answers. "Loki," he only flinched this time, and tried his best to look in her general direction. "Who did this to you?"

He didn't seem to hear the question, "A-agent Romanoff?"  _So, he recognizes my voice, at least._  She suddenly hated the bright light. Hated the way the normally proud and suave trickster god lay bleeding on the floor. Hated how his eyes searched for her, somehow filled with hurt as though it was she that had done this. It just seemed... _wrong_.  _Unnatural._

_She did not like it._

The next thing she knew, she was reaching out her hands and was dragging the mischief god a few feet away, out of the blinding light. The chair slipped away as the trickster cried out at something- Natasha wasn't sure what.  _Probably some injury..._  Of which he had no shortage.

Loki blinked, apparently trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden darkness. The Widow crouched next to him with one knee on the floor.

"Hey, Loki?" Natasha said, looking him up and down. "You've looked better." Loki said nothing, he only continued blinking the light from his eyes. "You okay?" The god let out a single huff at that.  _What was that for?_  He didn't exactly seem insulted.  _Right. Dumb question._

But Loki answered her anyway, "It seems...everyone is asking me that question today." He coughed and turned his head, blood splattering the white floors to his left. The mischief god flinched, clearly still in much pain, but when he attempted to shift his weight, Natasha realized he was still laying on his hands.

She peeked under him, then spotted the chains and cuffs. "Really not having a good day, huh?" She carefully leaned him on his side. He coughed again, but seemed less uncomfortable with the new position.

"Thank you," he barely breathed out, still wincing occasionally.

Natasha was caught off guard, brow furrowed slightly,  _did he just...thank me?_  "Um...sure." She wanted to say something, change the subject, get back to normality, something she knew.  _He's the enemy, I have him at my mercy._ She couldn't stop the thoughts, years of training kicking in. _He's helpless. Take him out now. There might not be another chance. I have the upper hand, he's on the ground, shackled, vulnerable._  She felt the knife in her hand. Solid, comfortable, familiar. She felt the cold stone floor beneath her, the air around her, cool, no breeze. The only sound was breathing, the breathing of her enemy, beneath her. Natasha gripped the knife in her hands, then she saw his eyes-  _what-?_

He was waiting. He was  _waiting_. Waiting for her to strike, to kill him. He was expecting it.

"Why are you waiting?" came his whisper. Even that silken voice of his was gone, replaced with something so vulnerable, sorrowful.

"You-" she didn't know what to say.  _Of course he would expect it!_  Even he realized they were enemies, and she was the Black Widow. What was she if not that? She killed her prey, and he was waiting.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

_Why does she not strike?_  Loki knew the Black Widow. He knew she would never walk in here without a weapon. And even if she had, her arms and legs would do just as well. He was chained up and bleeding, there was little he could do to defend against an attack. Or was there? There was a reason the Avengers muzzled him after they captured him.

"Agent Romanoff..." she glanced down at him, seemingly lost in thought for a moment.

She eyed him, "What?"

"Have you...have you seen my brother?"  _How long will it take for her to catch on?_

She narrowed her eyes, but she seemed to be considering, "I haven't seen him. Actually, I haven't seen anyone. You're the first." Loki nodded as best he could while still on his side. The Black Widow's rigid stance began to relax.

"And Stark?"

She furrowed her brow, "Stark? No. Why, have you seen him?"

He nodded again, "And Rogers."

One brow lifted, "Oh? And what happened to them? Did you kill the-"

"No," he said immediately, exasperated, he didn't even have to lie about it. "But..."  _Should I tell her? Would she believe me?_  With the Black Widow, perhaps to deceive her would not be the best course- not completely, at least. In his current situation, being caught in a lie might not go very well. "I..." He hesitated, hoping she would ask the questions instead.

She took the bait, "You what? Where are they?"

_Best not to annoy her at present_ , Loki thought. "I have not seen Stark for some time, but...Captain Rogers...he..." Loki glanced around, suddenly expecting to see him in some dark corner, staring back with unnatural eyes. But there was nothing but darkness.

Natasha sighed, "He..?" Loki looked down at where the overturned chair lay, hoping she would piece it together. She would never believe him if he suggested it. She shook her head, already refusing to acknowledge the possibility. "If you're about to tell me that Captain  _Rogers,_ Captain  _Steve Rogers_  did this to you-" She shook her head again.

"Is it so difficult to believe?"

She lifted a defiant eyebrow and scoffed, "Well... _yes_."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Natasha was sure he was lying.  _But why lie? And why make such an obvious lie?_  Maybe she could believe that Tony had done this, or Clint- at which point she would think it justified -or even Thor, if he got angry enough, but  _Steve Rogers_? Captain America? He'd throw himself in front of even the Red Skull's torture if he had to. But then...Loki wouldn't make up such a preposterous lie, would he? But it couldn't be true!  _Even so...everything that is happening, maybe something as impossible as that_ could _happen?_

She shook her head, once again wishing for normal times, "Loki...Rogers would never torture anyone."  _So, the straight approach. Nice technique, Agent Romanoff_ , she smirked internally.

Loki only stared at her, "And yet..."

"Why would he  _need_  to torture anyone?" Natasha wondered out loud.

"He didn't torture  _'anyone'_! He tortured me!" Loki's anger surprised Natasha for some reason. It was genuine; equal parts fury and terror, underlined with confusion and a subtle desperation for her to believe him. "And," he continued, now calmer, eyeing her warily, "I hope that you would let me go before you do the same."

_What's that?_  "Loki, I'm not going to hurt you." At least, she wasn't planning on it this time. No need to kick a man-  _or god, whatever_ -while he's down. Especially when she didn't require any information from him, not at the moment, at least. And he seemed to be giving her everything anyway.

"You say that now, Agent Romanoff, but I assure you, you  _will_  try it...or...something else..." the trickster trailed off, as if thinking.

Natasha eyed him, curious. "Why would you think that?" The pieces were fitting together,  _if he's telling the truth..._  If, in fact, Steve Rogers did this to him, then he was expecting her to act in turn.

"Because everyone I've run into has done-  _something_. Always. Something...strange is happening." Loki was looking away. No one else would have noticed it, but Natasha did: a subtle tremor in his shoulders, a quiver in his bottom lip, eyes flicking around, nervous, fearful.

"Tell me," she ordered.

He didn't resist. "Stark, he...his face was not right. He didn't attack me, I didn't give him the chance. I," he hesitated but continued, "ran from him."  _What could have been so wrong with is face for a god to run away?_  Natasha wondered. The trickster swallowed. "Next, Thor-"

"So you did run into Thor?" she asked without missing a beat, somewhat amused. She suspected he was using Thor to stay her hand, make her consider what the very over-protective thunder god would do if she killed his little brother.

Loki nodded reluctantly, swallowing again. "Yes...I apologize."

_Don't apologize to me, you're creeping me out with the courtesy._  "What happened with Thor?"

"He..." Loki shifted his weight, the shackles scratched the floor with his movement. "He tried to...kill me."

"What." Natasha spoke before her mind even did.

Loki glanced at her for a moment, then eyed the floor near his head. "I-I did not know what to do...He was  _so angry_ , I didn't know why. I've never seen him..."

"Are you sure?" Natasha scolded herself, it was obvious he wasn't lying- not about this.

Loki glared at her, "Yes, I am  _sure_! I had done nothing! We were only talking, amiably for once..." His face became passive again, albeit pained. "He...he hurt-" Loki shut his eyes, clearly unable to go on.

"So... _he_  did this to you?" Natasha asked.

The trickster opened his eyes, "Some. Rogers did the rest."

_Rogers still?_  "Why would Captain America hurt you? Hell, why would your brother?"

Suddenly, Natasha's comm device clicked on. She heard static again, then something akin to whispering. Very faintly, but still there.

"What is it?" came Loki's worried voice. He lifted his head to get a better look at her.

She put her hand to her ear, "I'm not sure, my comm unit just turned on...There are some strange-"

Loki was suddenly trying to get up, "No! Wait! Please, Agent Romanoff, it's going to happen soon, you have to leave! _Leave now!_ "

"What?" she screamed, although it was only because the static filled voice in her ear was getting louder. Loki was still trying to sit up, mostly unsuccessfully.

"Please! Just...leave! Go to another level,  _anything_! I beg you!" Loki's pleas were freaking her out, she had never heard him beg before, but the sounds were changing, speaking more clearly now.

"Loki, _be quiet_!" She screamed. He froze, although he had managed to at least sit up.

Loki's heavy breathing as a backdrop, she heard a scratchy inhuman voice on the comm.  _Blood_ , it said. Then a hundred more voices.

_Blood_

_Blood_

_Blood_

_Blood_

_Blood_

_Blood_

_Blood_

_Blood_ , over and over and over. Never stopping, the same word, again and again and again. Scratching against her ear, her mind.

Somewhere nearby, Loki was screaming at her, moving frantically, panicked, but she didn't see him or hear him.

_Blood_... _blood...blood..._

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Loki scrambled, he ran. Or, he  _tried_  to run. Somehow, during his struggle to get off the floor, he had managed to work his shackled hands under his legs and back to the front, and he was exceedingly glad of the chain's length. As for the rest of his body, his mind was too panicked to pay attention to pain, but he was still too injured to move in any straight line. He kept tripping over things in the darkness, and what was more, he didn't even know where the exit was.  _No, no, no..._  He couldn't control his breathing, he couldn't see for all the sweat in his eyes, and the blood... Every corner was too dark, too hot and cold all at once. There was a lamp here or there, painting an insufficient picture to light the way.  _Where is she? Where is she?!_  Loki suddenly wished he had stayed with her, that maybe he could have subdued her while she was distracted; but his body wouldn't heed his mind, and he was already running before he had even realized it.

Certainly, she was a mortal- but no  _ordinary_  mortal. While Loki guessed she was most prized in her skill as a manipulator, much like himself, she was also a proficient assassin. It was clear, even to Loki, that she was built for the kill. If Thor was a raging storm on the horizon, she was the silent death-the creeping plague, the last breath before the dagger's plunge. In the end, which was more deadly? Loki did not want to find out.

He panted, lungs breaking, trying to find a room to hide in. He didn't know where he was, which level he was on.  _Where is that damned transportation device?!_  Not only that, but he knew he was all but calling her to him with all the noise he was making. The darkness, combined with his panicked and injured state, caused him to crash into seemingly absolutely everything. Even walls appeared to pop up at the last minute, as if to say, 'Sorry, this is not your lucky day. Move along, please.'

If the Black Widow caught up to him, he knew, more than he knew anything, she would kill him. She wouldn't bother with pain or torture, she would just kill him. Perhaps that should have given him some small comfort, but it didn't. Such single-minded dedication to the art of death was terrifying. There were no more words to speak, no more negotiations, no more tricks or whispers into ears.

She was coming for him, and nothing would stop her.

The room he had slipped into was darker than the hall. He couldn't see a thing. Everything in him screamed to get out of the room, to get into the light, breathe in the air, leave this horrible darkness. Out! Out! Out! He wanted to get to the roof again, find a way out.

Something whispered nearby, Loki jumped, cracking his elbow on the wall he didn't realize was there. His eyes were as wide as they would go, but he could see nothing. Another whisper, on his other side. The darkness screamed at him, claws in the black, reaching out, craving for his blood.  _No! Stop! Nothing there! Nothing there!_

He knew he had to escape, get out of this room. He scrambled across the room, smashing both his legs into various pieces of furniture. He didn't feel the pain. He felt along the wall, hoping there was another way out of this room. Finally, somewhere opposite the way he had come in, was a secondary door.  _Yes!_  The door clicked open slowly as Loki peered out as best he could. There was a very small light at the end of a long corridor that stretched to both the left and right.

Loki breathed hard, he couldn't help it. He was sure the whole tower could hear his ragged breaths.  _Where is she..?_

He opened the door a little wider, expecting the Black Widow to jump out any moment and slice his throat. He didn't want to step into the hall, exposed as it was, but the darkness behind was like the mouth of a terrible monster- he would give anything to escape its blackened jaws.

Tentatively, the god of mischief stepped out of the room. To his right, and about twenty paces away was the small light- some sort of yellow-orange light near the ceiling, beyond that was an open door into a pitch black room; and to his left, darkness stretched beyond reach.

_Hmm._  To risk a little light and an unknown open door to his right? Or the pitch blackness of a corridor to the left- although it promised that any prying mortal eyes would not be able to see, either.

Loki peered into the darkness to the left, hoping to glimpse something,  _anything_. Was it a dead end? It could be anything... But the moment he glanced to the right, his mind was made for him. There stood a silhouette before the small light. A female form, hair like fire framed against the darkened room behind. The rest of her stood as a shadow, unmoving, waiting for her prey. She held no weapons, but the trickster god knew better.

He ran- or rather limped -as best he could to the left, not waiting for the Widow's attack. At least this way, he could see her coming- but as soon as he looked back, there was nothing, no one.

Loki felt panic creeping in, gripping tight every fiber of his being.  _Where..._  He backed up, eyes darting in every direction, trying to catch sight of the familiar small form. She could be hiding anywhere in this dark, anywhere behind or before, to the sides, the floor... He kept backing up, it didn't matter now which way he turned, he couldn't see anything. He also suspected that his vision had been compromised. No doubt blood had seeped in, and his own sweat still marred his vision.

His back collided with a wall, no where to go _..._  Dread filled him to the brink,  _she's here..._  he could feel her somewhere near. His own raging breaths filling the otherwise quiet air. He kept his back flat against a wall, not bothering even a meager defensive stance.  _How can_ she _even see in this dark?_  But there was nothing normal about what was going on. Whatever forces were controlling these people- perhaps she  _could_  see in the dark, and had been watching him the entire time. No. She surely would have killed him the moment she saw him.  _Or would she?_  This wasn't really Natasha Romanoff anymore, was it?

Loki slid down the wall slowly. He really wasn't ready to give up, but there was nowhere to go, nothing to do. He couldn't think through a situation he didn't understand. Nothing about this made any sense, so he waited. Waited for the inevitable strike; the slight shift in wind, the whirling of a blade, the scent of foreign leather.

There was silence for what seemed like an eternity. Loki's heart was so loud he felt it was a drum, calling for the Widow's strike sooner rather than later. Every muscle was rigid, every breath strained, eyes wide and staring at nothing.

Then it came, the whoosh of sudden wind caressing his left cheek. He instinctively lifted his left arm to block a knife he knew was coming. He was right, but unfortunately, another hand grasped onto the two broken fingers on that hand. Loki screamed as the woman squeezed the fragile bones.

Suddenly, Loki saw a light, and at the same time his body moving backward.  _What-?_  The trickster fell backward into a bright room, with the Widow falling on top of him.

.

_The...elevator?!_  Loki could hardly believe it, but he had no time to think. His assailant had let go of his fingers, but was bearing down on him with all her might. She moved to straddle him, to use her entire weight to push the now  _very_ close knife through his chest.  _Damn!_  Loki never realized how heavy such a small woman could be; although he suspected there might be more going on here than he could see. For the first time, he glanced up at her. Her hair was more than fire, it was  _bleeding_ \- as though the hair itself were blood. And her hands... Loki stared with wide eyes at the hands dripping with both dried and wet blood, the skin drenched in crimson, not a single patch of bare skin.

Loki gasped, trying to keep the blade from piercing his chest. But the Widow's eyes were boring into him, her bloodied hands relentless, slowly inching down, down, down...

At the last moment Loki jerked the blade off its course, where it stabbed somewhere near his left shoulder. Loki screamed as the blade pierced with the full weight of the Black Widow behind it, almost up to the hilt. Something akin to surprise at the re-direction flashed on the fierce woman's face, just enough of a distraction for the trickster to bring his right hand up to push her off of him and into the waiting dark.

Loki had little time as he heard the doors closing; he pushed with all his good leg was worth, all the way to the back of the elevator, and out of the Widow's reach.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter! This one got a bit longer, took me longer to get it right, too. Kept re-writing some parts... Anyway, there's some potentially trigger-y stuff in this chapter, although it's not so bad considering all the mean stuff I *could* have put, mehehe... (and, really, compared to a lot of other stories) Aren't all we authors just evil sometimes? (or all the time, whatever)

Clint Barton had awakened to some very bright lights in his face. He had then realized he was in a bathroom, on the edge of a sink, near a very bright mirror.  _What the hell?_  he had thought. It wasn't the strangest place he had ever slept, but he just didn't remember how he had gotten there. He didn't have a hangover, and anyway, he didn't remember anything about the day,  _night?_  before.  _And how did I get into Avengers Tower?_

He was confused, and somewhat worried, but it wasn't the first time he had woken up in a strange place- or the first time with some memory loss. The gym was on this floor, so he assumed he had come here to work out.  _But why fall asleep in the bathroom?_ Nothing was out of place, and the level was quiet. He had shrugged, and not finding any injuries on his person, decided to work out some before finding Natasha and getting some food.

But now at least a couple of hours had passed, and not even Steve had come in to kill a few dozen punching bags. In fact,  _no one_  had been by.

"Jarvis?" Clint looked toward the ceiling as he stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel.

No answer.

"Um, hello? Jarvis?" The AI never failed to respond before.  _What the hell?_  He wondered if Tony was working on it, or if maybe there was a malfunction.  _Or a crisis_... Clint quickly got dressed in his uniform and looked around for his bow and arrows. His eyes searched in the immediate area, then expanded outward to the rest of the gym.  _What the hell,_ he thought a second time. His weapons were nowhere to be found. He suddenly remembered that he had some memory loss.  _Memory loss..._  Clint brought his weapons everywhere with him, and even if he didn't have his bow, for whatever reason, he usually carried a secondary weapon, his gun or at least a knife. But there was nothing. He mentally slapped himself for being so careless after waking up in a strange room.

He was wary of leaving the area without some sort of weapon, but he was also eager to find out if there was something happening elsewhere in the tower.  _What if the others are in danger?_  So he jogged over to the elevator, then pushed the button for Tony's labs. It was the only place he was sure to find people, since Tony often worked with Bruce there, and there were typically a smattering of scientists somewhere on the R&D floors.

.

Every Research and Development floor so far had been deserted. Some were dark, with little power, others were bright but equally silent. The top research floor was Tony's favorite, so if he was around, that's where he'd be. Clint stepped out onto the floor as soon as the doors slid open, but the wide open floor was empty, except for the copious amounts of clutter scattered about. The ceiling was made of lights, and the floor seemed made of machine parts for all the effort it took to move about.

Although Clint had paid little attention, except to find people on the other levels, he now wondered why it was so dark outside. At first, he had thought it was just nighttime, but now realized that he should at least be seeing city lights. But there was nothing, only darkness.  _Hm, that's...not normal..._  He glanced around, then back outside.

Darkness. Silence. Nothing.

Clint didn't like it. It was a blanketing darkness, like someone had covered the entire building to fumigate it.  _Yup. Not normal._

He headed back toward the elevator, determined to find  _someone_.  _Tony's penthouse_ , he thought,  _there's sure to be someone there..._  But the elevator's silver doors were already sliding open, and inside sat the last person in the universe he wanted to run into.

.

Clint reached for the first weapon he could find- which turned out to be a stapler - _idiot!_  He set it down and grabbed a nearby metal tool, which he had no name for other than, 'some weird thing of Tony's.' He peered into the elevator, expecting the trickster god to jump up, but instead was met with silence and then, as he got closer,  _breathing?_  The bloodied god was breathing heavily and sitting with his back against the wall of the elevator.

"Uhh, hello?" Clint called. Loki's green eyes appeared for a moment, then slid down, along with his body until he plopped down on his side. "Uh, um. I didn't see that coming."

Clint, with tool-made-weapon still in hand, approached the barely conscious mischief god slowly, wondering all the while what the hell was going in. Then the doors started closing,  _woah no no you don't!_  He jumped forward and caught the doors as they slid back open.  _Great. Now I'll have to get him out before they close again._  He briefly wondered if it was a trick.

 _Knife!_  His mind suddenly registered. But where was it sticking from- Clint made a face.  _Oh, ouch._  The blade was sticking out of the trickster's left shoulder, and well, the rest of him didn't look too good either. He was covered in blood, almost head to toe, his hair was the worst Clint had ever seen it, he had cuts and bruises almost everywhere, his clothes were torn, his breathing was strained, and, of course, the tell-tale knife sticking out of him. The archer wasn't sure if he should feel sorry for him or dance around joyfully, but not finding anything appropriate somewhere in between, he opted to stare at the supine god with mouth slightly ajar.

A moment or two passed, and the doors were trying to defiantly close again, so Clint, before he could reconsider, grabbed Loki's legs and dragged him quickly out of the elevator, the doors closing behind them as the elevator went on its way.

Loki hadn't protested the movement, in fact he had done nothing even when his head cracked on the floor as he was slid out.  _Is he even conscious?_  Clint wondered. The green eyes fluttered open for a moment, then fell closed again, they opened again, then closed back. Clint sighed.  _Not_ quite _conscious yet, then._  He kind of felt bad for yanking Loki out like that while he was unconscious; if you're going to cause any injury to an enemy, at least make sure they're awake-it was unsportsmanlike otherwise. The archer almost laughed to himself,  _what the hell am I talking about?_  He shook his head.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

A sharp pain rippled through Loki's entire body, starting from his left shoulder. He heard a voice nearby, familiar, but couldn't quite place it.

"Sorry about that," it said, although Loki heard very little concern behind it, he didn't care. He didn't know who this was, or why he was apologizing, he only wanted to get away from them.

"Please, just...leave me alone," cracked his voice.  _Is that me? That's not my voice._ Loki wanted to open his eyes, but they were just so heavy. The pain burned through his arm and torso with even the smallest movement.

"No can do, Tall, Dark, and Creepy." The voice was so familiar. The image fluttered at the edges of the trickster's mind, a face, a familiar face.

 _Why won't my eyes open?_  Loki wondered, concern growing.

"Hey?" the man's voice said as he felt a light slap on the side of his leg that made him flinch, but he still couldn't open his eyes. "Anybody home?" the voice continued.

"Who...who are you?" Loki asked warily.

A snort. "Well, I didn't think it had been  _that_ long. D'you forget me already... _boss_?" Loki forced his eyes to open a crack, suddenly realizing who it was leaning over him.

"B-Barton?" Loki croaked out at last. The archer was blurry, but he managed to see him nod once.

"So. You  _do_  remember me. How nice." He was leaning closer. "Say, how'd you get everyone to disappear? Because that's quite an act."

Loki tried to move,  _wanted_  to move more than anything, but his body refused to obey. "Barton,  _I_ did not...did not do this." Even his voice seemed to hurt.

"Mm-hm." The archer didn't seem convinced. "Then who did? Where is everybody?"

Loki sighed, opening his eyes wider. He winced when pain greeted him in the form of light, "I do not know, I swear it. Please, just leave me-"

"And I already said, 'No can do.' You seriously think I'm letting you out of my sight, Loki?" Barton leaned back a little, standing up, arms crossed. "And who the hell did this to you, anyway?"

The mischief god blinked at him, trying to focus. "Everyone," was his simple answer.  _I tire of answering mortals' incessant questions._  Even if he could explain everything to Barton, he either wouldn't care, or, more likely, wouldn't believe him- or probably both. Telling him to go away of course wouldn't work either.  _What is there to do?_  Loki's mind was now seriously considering giving up. It was like being trapped in a room with no windows or doors. Knowing you were trapped helped none at all, but at least you could resign yourself to do nothing instead of wasting time trying to escape. "Just..." Loki breathed tiredly "...do your worst and get it over with."

"What's that?" The archer seemed slightly surprised and somewhat incredulous.

Loki sighed. "Just get it over with, please. Nothing I say will do me any good, and fighting back is as pointless as speaking to you."

Barton leaned against something behind him. "Hm," was all he said, as though considering. He was silent for a moment, then: "Yeah," he drawled, "I don't think so. You're not getting off the hook that easily. I need answers, and you're the first person I've run into."

Loki considered telling him, but he had neither the strength nor the desire to do so. "I will tell you nothing, because, as I said, it's useless. I will speak no more." He closed his eyes and waited. Waited for the voices and the inevitable pain.  _What would Barton do?_  He only hoped it would be over quickly.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

_What the hell is up with him?_  Barton wondered. Loki  _never_  shut up. All his nicknames reflected that, after all. God of lies, Silvertongue, bla bla bla. He hated hearing the trickster speak; his voice was annoyingly arrogant and smooth, ready for anything, anyone. A smirk and an impossible wit slithering behind every shark grin, like the Cheshire cat stalking with panther-like grace waiting to finish you with silken words and a green-eyed stare. He had an answer for everything. Half-truths were his speciality; god of lies he may be, but there was something annoyingly honest about the way he presented every carefully crafted word. He didn't use the truth, he mangled it then hid behind it, until you couldn't tell the difference between what was true and what was false. He wasn't so much the god of  _lies_  as he was the god of  _manipulation_. So was he manipulating him now? Clint had no idea- and that's what was so irritating about it. Even the god of lies could sometimes speak the truth.

 _Hmm, I doubt even Loki would go so far as to stab_ himself _just to manipulate me. Not to mention all his other injuries._ But Clint knew it could be an illusion. But why bother? And to what end? Clint was weaponless and, compared to Loki, so much weaker. Still, the shackles the trickster was wearing could have taken care of that. On closer inspection, they were etched in runes, thus Clint suspected they might be holding off Loki's magic, somehow. Otherwise, he would have surely healed himself by now.  _But even without his magic_ , Clint thought,  _he's still stronger._

Clint ran his hands through his hair, frustrated. Loki lay quietly, eyes closed, breathing steadily, wincing occasionally when he moved. "Hey, Loki?" he sing-songed his name. The god ignored him. "Promise I won't hurt you." Clint said, wondering if he really meant it. Loki let out a disbelieving sigh, but otherwise didn't respond, eyes still screwed shut. "I just want some answers. Is that really so hard-"

"Everyone wants answers; I will give you none."

Clint sighed in resignation, wondering if he should do something to force some answers out.  _Nope. Not going there. Not the time or the place._  He secretly wanted to, but it somehow seemed inappropriate at the moment. He just wanted to find his friends, and right now, he suddenly didn't give a damn about Loki.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Barton, without warning, ripped the knife from Loki's shoulder. Loki gasped and a strangled but short scream escaped at the pain shooting through his body, so he bit his lip and breathed,  _just breathe._  The archer then grabbed the chain on his shackles and started dragging him somewhere, albeit slowly.

"What..what are you doing?" Loki found himself asking through the pain as he opened his eyes, not realizing he had shut them again.  _Breathe, breathe...Don't cry out._

"What am I doing..." the archer said slowly "...I guess I'm dragging your heavy ass so I can leave you somewhere secure while I go and find my friends." Barton was kicking things out of the way, "And seriously, dude, you are leaving a huge trail of blood. Can you die from blood-loss?" Loki didn't really know, although he suspected the question was rhetorical anyway.

He also couldn't believe that the archer was going to leave him, all thoughts of pain flying away. "Y-you are leaving?"

"What? Don't tell me you'll get lonely?" Barton smirked, Loki didn't answer.  _He's leaving, he's leaving._  He could hardly believe it.  _Don't say anything, he'll only stay longer_ , Loki warned himself.

After what seemed like an eternity, the archer finally deposited Loki in a very small room with a round glass front that slid open. He wanted to ask about it, but clamped his mouth shut before he could.  _Be silent. Quiet, quiet. He's leaving now, say nothing._  He suspected, given this was some sort of research area, that this was a testing room of some sort. The walls were metal and the floor and ceiling as well. It was smaller than the elevator, but he fit well enough, even crouched on the floor.

"Well," came the archer's voice from outside after the door slid shut, "it's been real fun. But now I'm-"  _No no no... just leave! Leave!_  Something was happening. Loki could feel it,  _hear_  it. The voices, somewhere behind him even though that was impossible.

Loki suddenly jerked up on one knee, yelling out with two hands on glass, "Barton! Leave!  _Run_!"

The archer stared at him with confused wide eyes. "Right..." came his uncertain voice. "I'll...I'll..." Barton was shaking his head fiercely, eyes closed, as though trying to shake away an unwanted thought. "What?" the archer said to no one.

It was too late, Loki knew.  _Not again... when will this be over?_  He laid his forehead on the glass, tired.  _No more protests...useless..._

Then the glass slid open, as Loki greeted the uncaring cold floor.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Barton had barely heard the yells and pleas of the trickster trapped behind the glass. There were whispers all around, and then a crash like a tidal wave, a cacophony of scratching inhuman sounds. He shook his head, then shook it again, clenching his eyes shut.  _What is this? What is this?!_  He wanted to scream, but his mouth wouldn't open.

 _"Don't you want to hurt him?"_  came a thousand voices in his head.

"What?" he heard his own mouth speak aloud.

 _"Make him scream, burn, blood... Isn't that what you want?"_  Clint shook his head again,  _no! Get out! Not again!_  But the voices continued,  _"Yes. You want to. You want to hear him beg, just like you did. But you didn't even have a voice, did you? You were like a dog, a pet. Forever on a leash. Your voice, trapped inside, trapped inside..."_  Barton couldn't see anything, it was too dark here.  _"Then you were nothing, nowhere. You can make him feel the same. Isn't it beautiful? You can take his power...take his power. Isn't that what he deserves? Look at him."_  the voice ordered. But Clint couldn't see, he couldn't open his eyes.  _"LOOK AT HIM!"_  screamed the thousand voices. He wrenched his eyes open without thinking. Now he could see, but only him, only Loki, on his knees, screaming at him in the dark as though an invisible wall separated them. The trickster's mouth moved, but Clint didn't hear him.  _"He begs you already. Shouldn't you ease his pain?"_

Clint suddenly heard his own mind speak, without words,  _"No...I'm not him...I can't..."_

 _"Yes you can. He did it to you. He did it to you. Wasn't it to help you? To be free? Free. Free from your burdens? Didn't you revel in it, this freedom? No more decisions, no more mistakes, no more responsibilities. There was only_ him _, and what he wanted. Don't you want to repay him for his kindness?"_  Clint wanted to move, but his body wasn't there anymore.  _"Show him what it's like to be free..."_

_Free_

_Free_

_Free..._

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The moment the floor met his face, Loki could hear the footsteps approaching.  _Barton..._  Loki's body felt cold,  _why am I so cold?_

Next, he was being dragged again, but only a short ways, and by an arm not his shackles. Somehow, Barton managed to lift him up and seat him in a nearby metal chair. Loki leaned back in it heavily, certain he would fall over soon. The archer sat in a chair of his own, which had wheels on it and rolled around as Barton's form got closer.

"So," Barton said dryly, elbows resting on knees. "I'm gonna help you out, Loki." He was staring at the god with the most blank expression Loki had ever seen. He seemed almost...bored.

"Oh?" Loki replied warily, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.  _This cannot be good._  The archer's face was, on first glance, passive but hard, as if he was tired, but truly, if one looked further, there was a turmoil boiling beneath the calm exterior, like a brewing storm outside of a home; perhaps never to breach, but the observer within could certainly hear it.

"Sure," he replied in a light helpful tone. Loki stayed silent, uncertain what to say, how to respond.

Agent Barton stood up and walked a few steps away, looking at something on a desk nearby; the trickster eyed him warily. Only a few minutes passed, then Barton returned to his chair in front of Loki.

The man held some sort of tool in his hand, showing it to Loki, "Do you know what this is, Loki?" he asked, blinking, then waited for an answer.

The god glanced at it, then continued eyeing the archer worriedly as he shook his head slowly.

"No?" said Barton, then without a moment's notice placed the tool near Loki's knife-wound just as a clicking noise and blinding pain wracked the trickster's entire left side. He screamed, caught off-guard by the sudden increase in pain. He grit his teeth a moment later, though, trying not to fall over in his chair.  _Breathe! Breathe!_  Loki's mind repeated desperately.

Strangely, Barton righted him when he began to topple, "Okay then, don't fall over," as though it were a concern. "Oh. And this is a nail-gun." He held it up again for Loki to see. But Loki didn't see since he was too busy trying to concentrate on not screaming and remembering to breathe.

The mischief god heard a clanking noise, then realized Barton had dropped the tool on a desk nearby, and was now leaning closer to him. He then reached out one hand, stuck a few fingers into the wound, then examined his fingers in confusion. Loki gasped but kept as quiet as possible, for reasons he couldn't ascertain.  _Why not just scream and writhe? Just fall over, give up?_  There didn't seem to be a point to resisting, or doing anything for that matter.

To his surprise and confusion, the archer then rubbed the blood on Loki's face, then stared at the trickster. They both locked eyes for a moment- Loki in confusion, Barton in a mildly bored yet questioning face.

Suddenly, the archer spoke. "Do you know why I still have nightmares about what you did to me?" Loki continued staring, saying nothing, concentrating on breathing, but the man didn't seem to expect an answer. "It doesn't really have anything to do with acting against my will, oh no." He leaned in closer, "It was the knowledge that, afterward, I kind of  _liked_  being controlled." The god didn't refrain from the extreme look of confusion that crossed his own face. "Oh yeah," continued the archer. "Well," he tilted his head, "not exactly. Of  _course_  I hated having my mind controlled, but, in a way, it was easier...easier to let go..." His gaze drifted off of Loki, onto the floor. Loki suddenly wondered if whatever had been happening to the others was indeed happening to Barton. His behavior so far, while somewhat odd, didn't seem very far from what the man would probably do anyway.

"I-" Loki began, but the agent reached out a hand immediately and covered the trickster's mouth.

"No, no. I'm talking now. Wait your turn." The trickster furrowed his brow and continued staring. Loki had the urge to speak anyway when the hand was removed, but thought better of it when he grimaced at the pain from his shoulder. He took several controlled, if somewhat strained, breaths.  _Best not to antagonize..._

The archer's behavior was certainly hostile, but somehow less so compared to the others. And he almost seemed...himself?

"I sometimes miss that..." Barton continued, thinking, " _clarity_ , if you will. And I hate that. Hate that I miss it. There's nothing quite like..." the man was staring at nothing now, "giving in..." he trailed off.

 _Giving in..._  Loki thought.

"So yeah," said Barton after a moment, "I still have nightmares." The archer's eyes, which had been staring at nothing, suddenly jerked to Loki's. The trickster couldn't help a small flinch, the eyes staring at him but somehow still so far away. In a split second, the agent was so near, gripping Loki's clothes and pulling him up, faces so close together. He grit his teeth against the pain. "So,  _Loki_ ," Barton was carrying him by his clothes, just a few steps away, Loki barely walking, stumbling, before roughly depositing the mischief god onto a work table on his back. "I'm gonna help you out now. Show you what I dream about...Help you...help..." The archer was staring off in the distance for a moment, eyes glazed. Loki furrowed his brow, wondering what he was doing. Then suddenly the archer snapped back, head shaking a few times, eyes back on the god laying on the table. Loki's legs from the knees down hung off the side nearest Barton. "Sit up," he said suddenly.

Loki stared at him blankly. The next thing he knew the archer was moving, one hand wrapped around the trickster's face, over his mouth, his nose, the other around the back of his head. He let out a muffled protest while trying to pry the hands off.

The archer's face was still somewhat bored, blank. "I told you to sit up, didn't I?" But Loki couldn't hear him, trying desperately with pained arms and legs to free his face.  _So he means to kill me, too?_ thought Loki. There was something eerily familiar about the archer's disposition. All he needed was a pair of unnaturally blue eyes... "I told you, didn't I?!" The man was screaming now, "I told you!" The sudden outburst gripped at Loki, forcing him to stop struggling for a moment.

Then, just as soon as the hands had come, they were gone. Loki gasped and coughed painfully, keeping his blurry gaze on the man, who remained staring at him.

But the archer still seethed with anger, despite his deceptively calm exterior, "Don't want to listen, do we? Let's change that, shall we?" Loki blinked at the archer, trying to focus his vision. He next heard a strange clanking noise, then a subtle sound of something slipping on cloth.  _What was-_  Barton had removed his belt and was holding it in one hand.

"What are you-?" Loki spoke before he could catch himself.

Barton's sudden movement made Loki jerk, although he had nowhere to go as the archer was suddenly on the table with both knees, hovering above him. Loki didn't even have time to reach up to stop him when the belt was smoothly wrapped around the trickster's head, then neck. It was looped around once, the tail end held in the archer's hand.  _So this is how he means to kill me?_ Loki wondered, almost glad that the pain would stop. But instead, the belt tightened snuggly around, but didn't cut off any air.

Without another word or warning, Barton was turning Loki over onto his stomach, his legs now dangling off the table. The trickster winced and gasped at the sudden movement, gritting his teeth when Barton grazed his wounded shoulder. His shackled hands were terribly painful underneath him. As if he understood this, the agent moved around the table and dragged out Loki's bound arms, none-too-gently, from underneath him and latched the chain onto something over the side of the table and above the trickster's head, and out of his line of sight. He shut his eyes tight, trying to ignore the pain.  _Nothing to do! Useless!_

Loki did not like this position. No, he did not like it at all.  _What is he going to do?_

The next thing he knew, Barton had moved somewhere behind him and was fiddling with Loki's clothing. Immediately, he felt the blood draining from his face. "Barton! What are you  _doing_?!" He felt a tiny seed of anger growing along with his fear.

"What?" Barton said, sounding somewhat confused, although he had stopped moving. "Didn't I tell you I was going to help you? Show you?"  _How does_ this  _make any sense?!_

Loki had to admit, before this moment, some small part of him felt that he deserved what was happening. Of all the Avengers, Clint Barton had a right to cause Loki some pain. Retribution, as it were, and perhaps, well deserved. But now...

"Show me? Show me what?!" Loki tried not to let his voice tremble- either with anger or fear. "I-I understand that you wish to exact your revenge, and...perhaps I deserve some pain for what I did, but..." he tried to move his head, to at least see the archer, "but I never...I never...did anything like  _this_  to you!" Loki realized he was screaming now. He didn't care.

"' _This'_?...What?" Barton smirked. "What's worse, Loki, violating someone's mind?" he paused, "Or their body? Is there a difference, even?"

 _What?!_  Loki couldn't believe what he was hearing. He may have taken over a few people's minds, including Barton's true, but he  _never_  abused them- not intentionally anyway. There was no need. Sure, he could have done anything he wanted to them, but his purpose wasn't malicious, they were merely tools... It wasn't  _personal_. Loki shook his head.  _Personal..._

He suddenly felt the cool air on his skin.  _No no no no..._  A panic was rising from his core, he fought to control himself.  _Don't panic. Don't panic. Breathe. Breathe. Don't panic..._ He had endured pain, torture, near death from the others, and somehow he had survived, but this... He  _couldn't_ believe that this was Barton. He knew the archer's mind, he would  _never_  do anything like this, even to an enemy.

"Barton," he somehow found his voice, shaky though it was, "stop this, please. This  _isn't you_. I know you...this can't be you." Loki was talking more to himself than Barton.  _Of course it's not him, you fool! He's not in control of himself...again._  He might have laughed at the man's string of bad luck if his mind were capable of acknowledging humor at the moment.

Something tightened around the trickster's neck suddenly. Loki had forgotten about the belt still around his neck. He wheezed out heavy breaths and felt Barton's- fortunately still clothed -body on his backside, warm and uncomfortable. The archer was leaning closer, whispering. "You want this to stop?"

Loki was already nodding,  _of course I want this to stop!_  The belt was tightening slowly, but stopped suddenly.

The archer's voice was suddenly so near, "I want to hear you say it!" he screamed into the trickster's ear. Loki tried to jerk away, but couldn't.

So Loki obliged, "Yes!" he coughed out. "Stop this!"

"Why should I stop?"

 _What? Why is he asking me..._  "I..I don't-" but the belt was cutting him off again as he gagged.

"Yeah. There's no reason to stop, is there? Don't you deserve this?" The voice was too near... it echoed in his head.

Loki was trying his best to make his head shake- to say 'No!' but it wouldn't move. He only heard himself say, "Yes..." he choked out, gasping with strained breaths. "Yes...I deserve this...but please stop. Don't...don't..."  _Who is asking me? Is it Barton? Something else? Does it matter? What am I saying?_  He felt something wet on his face, falling, warm, but he couldn't spare the thought to wonder about it.

The agent said nothing, as if thinking. Loki only wheezed, coughing occasionally. "Hm," the archer said finally, voice flat. "I'm sorry, but I can't stop."

Loki started thrashing involuntarily, all injuries forgotten. "No!" he coughed out, "Don't...Stop!... _Please no_!"

He felt every hope leave his body along with his breath. The belt was so tight now, he could feel his lungs breaking. He could barely even sense what was happening behind him for the darkness that was seeping into his vision.

Somewhere in the corner of his breaking mind Loki heard a slight zipping noise, not caring to wonder what it was. Then...silence.

The god of mischief was choking, waiting to suffocate, waiting for the pain...then probably, death.

But all that came was an exasperated voice behind him, loud enough to break through the trickster's shattered hope, "What the  _hell_  am I  _doing_?!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay ya, me so mean! XD I coulda been meaner, though! Although...am I talking about Loki or my readers, since this is a cliffhanger. At least you sorta got to see what's going on in their heads when "it" happens, huh?


	7. Chapter 7

Barton could not for the life of him fathom what was going on right now. There had been voices, horrible, scratching,  _burning_ , voices. A hundred and a thousand more screaming at him- grabbing at his mind, telling him to do things. He just couldn't remember  _what_  they were telling him, nor what he had done. None of the voices made sense, crashing around in his mind, contradicting each other, weaving in and out like opposing waves on the ocean. Clint had fought, had fought with everything in him against the furious onslaught, reaching for something,  _anything_  in the crushing black.

Then suddenly the voices stopped. The sensation somehow familiar... It hurt, but it was also wonderful, like the first light breaking through an endless darkness. The sun at dawn, harsh but warm after the frozen night.

Next, he heard his own voice. "What the  _hell_  am I  _doing_?"

The next sight when his vision came into focus disturbed him so much he stepped back, his mouth dropping open.  _What did...what the fuck?!_  Loki was draped, in a rather disturbing fashion, over a metal work table with his trousers...with his... _what-?! What am I doing?!_  He suddenly realized his own pants were unzipped,  _what am I...but- what-_  He quickly fixed them on a reflex. He continued staring, words not forming, even in his mind.  _Did I just...did I-?_  His entire body was numb, he could barely feel his feet on the unsteady ground.

The archer moved around on shaky legs, so he could see the trickster's face.

 _Oh man!_  Loki was wheezing, choking, his face pale, on his last breath. Barton reached out quickly and with panicked fingers tried his best to undo the belt-  _my belt! Shit!_  -from the god's neck.  _Tell me I didn't...please tell me I didn't just.._. His thoughts died as he watched the trickster's tear-stained face choke on desperate breaths and barely contained sobs.  _Oh man, damn...I couldn't have...there's no way I did..._

The mischief god finally found his breath again, "No..." he pleaded, still crying slightly, "stop... I'll...you can't- don't-" he sucked in another trembling breath, trying to look up at the archer from his position.

Barton just stared at him with wide eyes, still not certain how to react, his throat seizing up, his face threatening tears at the sight of the desperate creature in front of him. The only thing Barton managed to do was unhook the trickster's shackled chains from the bottom of the table. But before he could react, the god gasped and was already sliding backward onto the floor with a loud thud and a choked scream of pain.

 _Shit!_  The archer ran around the table to help him, but the shaking god was curled up in a ball trying his best to hide from the approaching form.

"Look, man..." Clint finally found his voice, half-whispered though it was. "I...tell me I didn't...did I..." He didn't know what to say.

Loki continued wheezing and Clint absently wondered if he had permanently damaged his throat somehow. The trickster was backed up against the same work table, eyes watching Clint warily as he continued shaking.

Clint couldn't believe it, but he felt so bad for the god in front of him right now. He simply couldn't conjure up even one hateful thought or feeling at the moment. Clint finally breathed deep and found his words, which fortunately were more controlled now, "Loki," he said as calmly and as softly as possible, "did I...did I hurt...you?" He wasn't certain he was being clear enough. The trickster had bruises and blood all over him.

The god eyed the archer for a moment, confused. But he still nodded.  _Shit_.

He decided to be more clear, there was no way to say it delicately, so he just pushed the words out as best he could, "Did I..umm..." he scratched his head, shut his eyes. "Did I...just... _rape you_?" He winced at his own words unconsciously but opened his eyes to see, to  _know_.

The trickster god only stared at him, wide-eyed.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Loki didn't know what to think.  _What's happening?_  He had felt his life leaving him, the darkness closing in, then, like someone had pulled him from drowning, his head broke the water, and he could breathe again. He just didn't expect that someone to be Agent Barton.

The archer's behavior was strange, almost... _like himself?_  But now  _truly_  like himself. Loki couldn't believe it. Every cautious thought in his head told him not to hope, that the same hope would destroy him, betray him.

But there he was, the archer, acting like himself again.  _How can it..._

The question from Barton caught Loki off-guard. He was asking if he had-  _Doesn't he know?_  The trickster's first instinct was to lie.  _God of lies, after all..._  If Barton thought he did something like that, he would show sympathy, would maybe even refrain from hurting him further. Then maybe Loki could get out of this alive, if not unscathed. But to what end? Was there an end? Even if Barton had somehow broken free of whatever was controlling him, what was to keep it from taking control once again? And even if the archer was somehow immune, what were the two of them to do? What was happening outside? Where was everyone? What about the other Avengers? If they came across them again, would Barton defend him? Or perhaps join them?

Loki's mind reeled with too many questions; too many questions that had no answers.

But for now, the archer was looking at him with expectant eyes, and suddenly, Loki couldn't bring himself to lie. "No," came the quiet answer to Barton's question. He couldn't believe himself. Lies were safe, it was the truth that hurt. Wasn't it?

Barton breathed out a long sigh, as though he had been holding his breath. He sat on a chair, the  _same_  rolling chair from earlier, and Loki mentally winced at the sight of it.

"Dude..." said the archer's uncertain voice. "I just..." he sighed, "sorry. I mean, what the hell happened?" He was looking at Loki now, brows furrowed, questioning. But Loki was barely listening, he suddenly realized he was still half-clothed, and the floor was like ice. Somehow not caring about the archer in front of him, he attempted to redress himself in as much a dignified way as possible, although it didn't seem likely- dignity was a foreign concept now, shattered on the same frozen floor beneath him.

To his credit, Barton turned away, clearing his throat and scratching the back of his head nervously. He mumbled something under his breath the trickster couldn't hear, and stared at the wall.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The feeling of relief when the trickster god said 'No' was beyond belief. Was it selfish to hope that he hadn't done something like that?  _No_ , he told himself,  _it's good for Loki, too_. But...  _would_  he have done it? If he hadn't somehow awakened from the nightmare. The voices were quieted, but not completely gone. They hovered at the edges of his mind, like lingering wolves in the distance or vultures awaiting a certain death. What would it take for them to come back? And would he continue what he had started? He was suddenly afraid of himself. Whatever had been controlling him had no boundaries, it seemed. Suddenly, being controlled by the god of mischief and lies didn't seem all that bad. Barton mentally slapped himself.  _What in the world am I thinking?_

Loki was still wheezing and shaking slightly, but he was fully clothed now and staring blankly at the floor he was sat on. There was something in the god's eyes Clint couldn't quite place. It was a blank look, soft-  _no_ - _hollow_  and almost sorrowful. Like...like...  _has he given up?_  Barton suddenly wondered.

Right now Clint would have preferred seeing anger on the trickster's face, to see screaming and burning rage. Or a sideways smirk and a dignified haughty glare. Or even a tear-stained flurry of panic and undignified hurt. Anything but  _this_. Him just giving up? Somehow Clint found it insulting.

He still remembered that brilliant mind, the wheels turning and working at a pace no one could quite catch. Sure, the guy's greatest weakness was that same mind, given to madness, but he was still utterly  _brilliant_. It seemed like nothing could touch him; maybe out of sheer force of will, and  _maybe_  it was an unyielding delusion, but Clint, while under his control, found that confidence comforting. There was a plan, and there was nothing to do but follow it. Where it led he didn't care; there at least  _was_  somewhere to go.

But the Loki in front of him now was...different. Damaged. And it was clear it had started long before Clint had first glanced that bloodied form on the floor of the elevator.

"Loki..." Clint left the chair and crouched down on one knee next to the god. The trickster's gaze slowly, very slowly, drifted until it found Barton's. Then, the god tilted his head slightly. "Loki," Barton started again, his eyes never leaving the god's, "tell me what happened with," he searched for the words, "with the others. You said you came across others?"

And to Clint's surprise the blank look answered him.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The god of mischief, lies, and chaos didn't know why he was answering the man in front of him. He had no reason to answer him, but he did anyway. It was like he couldn't stop himself. He started at the beginning, and continued without interruption until the moment Barton had released him after the archer had almost... And the man was shaking his head, not because he didn't believe the trickster, but because it was such an impossible story. Loki  _knew_  he believed him, and he was glad of it.  _Someone_  was listening to him for once.

Barton sighed. Loki swallowed.

There was a threat hanging heavy in the air. They both knew whatever happened before could happen again, and Loki wanted nothing more than to plead with Barton to leave him-  _what if they take you over again?_ he wanted to say.

But the archer was shaking his head, as though he knew what Loki was thinking. Loki couldn't bring himself to object, suddenly understanding that he really  _didn't_ want Barton to leave. Somehow the man had overcome the control the others couldn't, for whatever reason, and he was Loki's best hope to get out of this situation...whatever it was.

And there inlay the problem: what  _was_  this situation?

Loki didn't have time to ponder the question with the man before him, since something else was happening. The voices.

Voices.

_Voices..._

Loki wanted to scream, to cry, pull at his own skin, rip his hair, then scream some more.  _Not again!_

He fell on his side and gripped his head and his hair. And he did scream. A frustrated and pained sound that echoed all around.

But then he heard a voice nearby, normal,  _human_. "What the- you hear that, too? Loki?!"

Barton.

Barton was asking him questions, leaning down, trying to pry the trickster's hands off of his head,  _no no no, can't be stopped. They want you...they want me... Can't stop can't stop there's no end._  But the man was insisting, hovering, saying strange things,  _soothing_  things, even over the growing noise. The  _scratching_  sound, like twisting impossible metals and violent crashing waves all around. Ripping into his body, his mind. Not letting go.

" _Loki!_ " the voice broke through, just as silence surrounded them. Or... _maybe I'm just deaf now?_ How he longed for that mercy. But he heard his own breathing, and the matching harsh breath of the man next to him, who was now holding Loki's wrists.

Loki let go of his head and dared to look up. The room was now dark, sporadic faint orange lights lingered in the distance. Barton was still holding his wrists, but the archer was looking away, whispering something beneath his breath.

The trickster used the man's grip on his wrists to pull himself up to a sitting position; Barton didn't seem to notice, his grip was like iron, cold and steadfast. Loki absently wondered if a mortal was capable of breaking his bones.

Then, as he followed the archer's gaze, he realized the man was gripping so tightly out of terror. For Loki now shared that terror. There, at the edge of the lab, was a large silhouetted form. He could make out the way the form moved to each breath, in and out, in and out, as though waiting for something.

Loki dared a glance at the man next to him, just as the wide-eyed gaze was returned to the god. Barton's lips moved without sound: ' _No_ '. Loki couldn't even move his own lips. He could only return his eyes to the distant form, mind blank, unthinking, frozen, paralyzed. There was nothing they could do, there was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run.

Then suddenly, as a bone-breaking roar broke through the air, Barton was on his feet.

The next seconds past in slow motion. Loki saw the archer, standing tall and determined, just as he saw the hulking silhouette approach. The mortal archer was now running, running forward, each step deliberate, slow, as Loki's eyes saw, toward the thing crashing across the room. The trickster couldn't react, only watch. There was a scream- a roar,  _something_ , as the two moved,  _ran_  toward each other. With his right hand the archer had pulled out the knife he had taken from Loki, but the man was now tossing it aside. It was useless, Loki knew, but why toss it?

The power of the thing approaching was tangible, the trickster could taste it on the air, feel it rattling his bones, his blood. And before he could cry out, he heard the sound of the archer scream, then a crashing noise, like metal and flesh colliding.

Then silence.

Darkness.

 _Breathing._  But not only Loki's breath. He was next.

The Hulk was coming for him next.

.

The windows were  _oozing_. Oozing with darkness and death. And now the walls, too. It was  _so dark_.

Loki squinted into the oppressive black, sitting against the table, his wrists still warm with the echo of shaking fingers. There was a low persistent slithering sound, like a thousand coiled snakes writhed and shifted across the floor. And the black  _moved_. Moved toward him, toward the center of the room.

And  _he_  was moving, too. Slowly, toward Loki. He could almost see it now, the green... But no, it _wasn't green_. Just the color of blood, like a sanguine moon on the horizon screeching out in death without glory, calling the hopeless forms beneath it to their doom.

Don't fight, it said. Just give in.

But Loki's body and mind refused.  _No! No no no no. I won't can't never never!_ He jerked up, ignoring the pain that crashed in on all sides. The black was crawling across the floor now, covering the ceiling and every direction. The towering form moving still, so close,  _so close_.

Loki stumbled away, trying even in his futility.  _I can't...can't! I will not stop! I won't give in!_  The memory of Barton's form running across the floor away from him flashed in his mind.

_No!_

He clenched his eyes shut as he stumbled, fell.  _No! No! Get up you fool!_  But it was too late, he was on his stomach, he couldn't do anything. He pounded his fists into the floor until the tiles broke, tears streaming down his face. The floor shook,  _trembled_  beneath him. He cried out, screaming with anger and fear and frustration and absolute  _fury_.

A large hand grabbed at him, wrapped around his legs, pulling him upward until he dangled before the crimson eyes. Loki screamed at the face, was it fear or anger? He didn't care. All Loki could see was red.

The other hand gripped his hands, stopping his struggling.

There were some words. Foreign curses snarled from the god's lips at the thing before him.

Loki didn't see them. He didn't see the forms writhing and slipping in next to the two. Shapes as dark as midnight and colder than the moon.

They watched. Watched with no eyes. Surrounding the trickster god and the hulking form. The two only stared at each other, anger seething between them.

The next moment Loki felt an impossible pain shoot faster than Mjolnir's lightning through his body. He didn't scream. He  _couldn't_. Every bone screamed for him instead, as the large hands stretched him.

It lasted an eternity, until finally, as if something annoyed the creature, he was falling free. The cold air whipping passed him until the cracked floor greeted him.

A grunt met Loki's ears, but he couldn't focus his vision. His body wouldn't move, it didn't matter anymore anyway. The  _beast_  was moving, making noises, the ground shook.

Loki could see the black now, all around, surrounding like the darkest ocean, and he was drowning in it.

He was on his side, and now he could see it. The chains... _his_ chains were broken, his hands were free.  _How?_  It didn't matter, even the shackles around his wrists had broken off.

The creature bellowed and grunted, moving. Loki still didn't hear him. Instead, something caught his eye- the knife.  _The knife..._

Loki didn't know how it was possible, but he was crawling, hands barely moving, pulling him forward so slowly, forward toward the small glint of the waiting knife. He was wading through a sea of darkness. It was the void all over again, but... _heavier_ , pushing in on all sides, simmering,  _burning_  with a strange cold.

His mind was gone, abandoned somewhere where the beast had dropped him. Only instincts drove him now, so he crawled.

And now it was there, in his hand, his chin touching the cold floor, the rest of him numb. Loki managed, so so slowly, to turn over on his back. Now there was only black. Or was he closing his eyes? He didn't know and didn't care.

Silence ate at him, peeling off his flesh. And the unforgiving dark burned him to his shattered bones, snaking their way through every sinew and finding refuge in his forgotten blood.

But his hand was still there, and there was nothing else. Nothing else but the knife. And Loki smiled when he plunged it into his heart, and then there was nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okaaay... So ya, don't worry there's more chapters after this one. Sorry to any Bruce fans (or people who were looking forward to an entire chapter of Bruce/Hulk) but my brain decided this is how this chapter should go.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers, here's another chapter! Yes, it's pretty short, but that's intentional. Making it longer simply didn't fit in with the format I was going for- this is more or less the last chapter. Further explanation in the notes at the bottom.

There was a light somewhere. It was near, and yet, still so far. Still so far... It echoed all around, swimming and skimming as though the air itself were a pond of brightest light.

The god of mischief was still smiling.

And now there was sound, something... _something..._  He didn't know what it was, he only knew it for what it was: sound.

The light was still lingering and now mixing with the sound.  _Beautiful_ , he thought. His mind didn't care about thinking, didn't recognize it  _could_  think. It only knew there were things happening, and that there were eyes.  _His_  eyes, and they could see now.  _Where's the darkness gone?_  His hands were free, the ache was gone, and the air was clear. But he didn't know. He didn't know...

_Is this real?_

He was still smiling.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The scientist felt the tainted green bleed from him. The dark had echoed, echoed,  _echoed._  But now it was gone. The monster was quelled. Asleep. His limbs were sleeping with him, at least for a while. He felt his body, confusion seeping in at how small it was. Where had they gone? Where were the others? Where's the darkness that eats? Where's that angry and fearful pale face, that bled with tears as the darkness _screamed_? He didn't know.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The archer felt the hard ground beneath him, cold and smooth. And the darkness... _no..._  Not the same darkness. Not the terrifying black of the mask of night outside the windows, instead a  _true_  darkness. Like that of night, or the silence of a quieted room while snuggling warm covers and listening to someone breathe next to you. It was a different darkness. Smooth and familiar, not that shadowed horror, not the thing that waits with crooked teeth and jagged breaths in the hallway closet.

Hallway...

There was a light nearby now, distant and warm, getting brighter. It flickered, showing a flame, a torch.

He remembered something..some _body_ , someone who was so near, but so far away.  _Where was he?_ He could barely see, and his fingers remembered something else. Something both warm and cold beneath his fingers.  _What was that?_  he wondered.

He squinted at the dark, then waited for his body to come back to him.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The assassin remembered blood first. It filled her vision like shards of metal waiting and scratching at all the wrong moments. And the eyes. Green. So stark against the surrounding red.

 _Where am I?_  She felt something soft on her face, something like red, but not unpleasantly so. Hair, her mind registered.

She breathed, smelling something unfamiliar in the air. But there was no blood. No wetness, no terrified eyes and no marred pale skin.

 _Where am I?_  Her eyes opened to the sound of movement. Cloth and leather and metal against something hard and unyielding. Her hands moved without permission, grabbing for something at her side; and there it was, the familiar cold of her weapon.

She sighed. But not out of relief. The thing felt heavy in her hand, almost forgotten. She didn't want to forget, never again. It was too dark and too terrible in her hand now.

 _Where's the red?_  She never wanted to see the red again.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The soldier wished he hadn't opened his eyes. He remembered a blinding light, a pain in his hand, an ache in his heart. There was somebody nearby,  _is that now, or before?_  He shook his head, trying to sit up. His body protested. He was sure his knuckles were bruised, he didn't know why.

There were questions lingering in his mind, and something foreign, an unsteady anger that wasn't his. He shook his head, he hoped it would go away.

He somehow sat up as he brought his hands up to his face. They were unscathed. Normal. Ordinary. The world around tipped slightly but he righted himself as he stared at the darkened corridor.  _What is this place?_  It was dark, yes, but there was something burning nearby, a light...a  _torch?_  And now there were several; lining the corridor in every direction.

He gasped when he saw something nearby-  _no_ -it was a body...somebody...

_Where am I?_

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The god of thunder lashed out at nothing, or everything. A pain exploded in his head, drowning him in anguish and sorrow- but where did it come from? Why did he feel that way? Green eyes lingered at the edge of his vision, something of a phantom, beckoning him to look, to  _see_.  _No_ , he told himself. He didn't want to remember, but it was already too late.

He remembered... He clenched his eyes shut, but the memories still flooded in. Of slender hands grabbing desperately, of wide-eyes shocked in betrayal, a hard line of mouth slightly quivering in disbelief. Words that stung and hurt his skin like a thousand pin-pricks shattering an eternity of memories. Where were those eyes now? Were they near?

He looked around for the first time, eyes unblinking, trying to focus. His arms felt numb, he didn't pick up the hammer that lay uselessly on the stone floor beside him.

There was a room nearby, a door, a light. It was only a few steps away. And there were bodies...no, not bodies, they were moving, making noises. The sound of moving cloth and unsteady boots on the floor began to drift toward him. Familiar voices followed them. The voices sounded as confused as his own thoughts.

But the light, the room... he moved toward it, suddenly afraid.

_Please...please..._

His boots were filled with iron, his legs barely moved. He passed the door, and then he saw him, and there were no words that could form in his throat.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

The inventor stood up slowly, aware of the large blonde man passing him. His own legs didn't want to work, to move, but he forced them anyway. His shoes met the floor, as though the ground itself tilted to the side.  _No wait_ , he thought,  _that's not possible_.

There were others here, too. Others he knew, and they were moving, slowly but surely. Some wore faces of sorrow and confusion, others wore a mask, and still others looked at him, at each other.

No one smiled.

The man who had passed him-  _no, not man, not mortal_  -was at a door now. The door, it was a strange door, wrought of iron bars and other cold metals. It was a cell, and the blonde god was walking through it.

 _Okay._  His mind couldn't conjure up anymore words, and some large part of him knew that was strange. That he should be speaking. Speaking so quickly it made the others' heads spin.

But he couldn't, or maybe  _wouldn't_.

They all approached the cell door.  _Friends_ , he now recognized. All of them together, free, normal. No one spoke. The silence was deafening.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Loki stopped smiling.

He  _felt_ more than saw the form hovering over him. It was so familiar, so comfortable it filled his vision with tears. Some part of him didn't like that, but he didn't care about that part. He ignored it with every instinct that whispered inside him. It was warm, golden, so near, and it was  _good_. He didn't want it to go away.

Then the face followed it, came into focus. And it was worried, but a small smile lingered.

He didn't understand it, he only bathed in its golden familiarity, as though the sun itself fed its wonderous rays over his body from every direction.

He blinked and watched the form's mouth move. He didn't hear it, didn't care to.

Death lingered on the horizon, watching him with a terrible gaze. But it was moving now, moving away until it was the dark speck of a distant memory. He didn't want that memory, wanted to bury it in a thousand years of that blinding smile before his vision.

What was that? That word that stung so fiercely before but now danced all around, surrounding in its strangely comforting embrace.

Loki clung to that word, cares melting away with the dark, eternity stretching before him.

He heard it again from those lips, " _Brother_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After going through and reading the whole story again, I've decided some closure was in order. Soo, there's another chapter after this one (well, more of an epilogue, I suppose). Hopefully, it'll answer some of the questions you guys have, although not all. This story is mysterious by design, I want readers to make their own assumptions about what's going on- or at least in regards to the antagonists.


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here's the promised epilogue. It's fairly short, but as I said, it's not so much meant to answer questions as provide closure. I sort of wanted to put in more with all of the Avengers, but I felt that it would get too convoluted and I would end up just writing another story, ehehe.
> 
> So here's the last lil' bit of this story, hope you've enjoyed it!

"Brother?...Loki?" The god of thunder rushed forward then knelt beside the supine form of his brother on the cell's cold floor.  _He's alright, he's fine. Not dead, not dead._  Thor's mind played the words, over and over. And his mind was right.

The trickster stirred, eyes half-lidded, but he said nothing. The thunder god couldn't help the small smile that slipped onto his face. He was vaguely aware of the others standing behind him, watching, silent. He stared down at his little brother, whose eyes were closing and opening, perhaps not yet aware of the world around him.

"Umm," said Tony Stark, "his...shackles..."

Thor didn't turn around, he saw what Stark meant. Loki's magic-suppressing shackles were broken, both the chain connecting the cuffs, and the cuffs themselves.  _How..?_  They lay on the floor beside his brother.

"Loki?" Thor tried again. "Can you hear me? Brother?" He reached out a reluctant hand, then touched the side of Loki's face with fingertips. Cold. But there was nothing strange about that.

Suddenly Loki's eyes jerked open, wide as the moon, green as emeralds.

"Brother?" said Thor, his hand lingering near the smaller god's face.

The trickster jerked away suddenly, then scrambled backwards until his back hit the far wall. He didn't seem aware of the wall, as he tried to back up further for a few seconds before he stopped.

"Thor..." said the mischief god with a hoarse voice. "You..." his eyes blinked but remained wide, "your head."

Thor frowned and chanced a glance at the others, who stared at Loki, then looked back to his brother. "My...head, brother?"

Loki's eyebrows perked for a moment as he continued to stare, "You have it." Thor shook his head slightly, confused.  _Has he gone mad?_

The thunder god stayed on his knees, but shifted a little closer.

Loki's face suddenly scrunched up as he hid his face with both hands, shaking. "You...you can't be real..." came his muffled voice. "I'm not- where did I go? How did you-?" Then he jerked his hands away from his face and stared at his hands with the same wide-eyes. He turned his hands over, as if inspecting them. "Is this real?" he whispered in disbelief. "No blood, no blood..." he trailed off.

Thor looked at Stark, then Barton, then Banner, who were on his left against the wall. Steve was on the other side of Thor, near the door; Natasha was still out in the corridor, although she peered in, equally curious. Several of them sighed, as though tired, still others shook their heads or indicated confusion in different ways.

Loki continued mumbling under his breath, and appeared to be checking himself for something.  _Injuries? Or something else?_  Thor wondered. The trickster was either ignoring the others, or he wasn't aware of them.

Thor moved a little closer, uncertain what he should do. It was strange with the others behind him, quiet and watching.

His little brother stopped for a moment, frozen. His eyes flicked to Thor, then to the others behind him, then back at Thor.

"You," said the trickster to Thor, his eyes wide but impassive. "You're alive, and...with head." He looked to Banner with a jerky movement, "And you broke me," his eyes flicked to Barton, "And you tried to save me." The archer shifted uncomfortably. Loki's gaze met Steve's, "You hurt me," then to Natasha, "And you almost killed me." To Stark he said with furrowed brows, "And you...have a face." To which Stark furrowed his brow in return and blinked twice.

"...Thanks..." drawled Stark.

Thor was closer to Loki now, "Brother..." the trickster's head jerked to Thor, eyes even wider. "Can you tell me what's happened? How did-" Thor thought for a moment, trying to remember. "How did we get here? Were we not in Stark's tower a moment ago?"

Stark answered him, "Well, all I remember is Jarvis telling me the wrong time, over and ov-" He checked his watch. "-over..."

"What?" asked Barton.

"Um," Stark said, still staring at his watch. "We...were..." he trailed off, then said under is breath: "One forty...two..."

"What's wrong?" asked Rogers.

"Oh nothing," said Stark, suddenly looking at the others, clearly unnerved about something. "My, uh, my watch just stopped. It's nothing."

Loki continued staring at each of them in turn, as though he expected them to do something. He looked like a cornered animal, fearful but ready to bite and scratch if someone came too near.

"Brother," Thor began, "we are not going to harm you, we-"

"That's how it all starts," said Loki, he suddenly looked so small to the thunder god. "You're you, then...you're not you. Something else..." he looked down to the floor. His eyes glazed over. "You can't fight it, they're inside, and everywhere...but..." his eyes came to rest on Barton. "How did you..?"

The archer looked nervous as the others stared at him. "What?"

Natasha spoke up, "What  _do_ you remember, Clint?" He glanced at her but shifted his gaze back to Loki.

"We were..." Clint narrowed his eyes, remembering. "I think I did something stupid." He looked at Banner, still trying to remember.

"What?" said Bruce. "Why're you looking at me? All I remember was walking around the tower...then..." He looked up, then rested his hand on his chin. "Actually, I don't remember much after that." He stared at the floor.

Thor suddenly felt annoyed at this odd conversation. Yes, he wanted to know what happened, but right now, he wanted to make sure Loki was okay. "My friends," he said standing up, facing them. They looked to him, their banter forgotten. "May I have a moment with my brother. There is something..." he searched for the words. "Whatever has happened, I must make certain it cannot happen again. Can you wait in the corridor?"

They each nodded and said nothing while moving out of the small cell. Steve Rogers stayed a moment, then nodded once and patted Thor on the shoulder before leaving as well.

Thor closed the cell door behind them.

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

Thor was real... _real... real_ , Loki repeated in his mind. They were here, all of them,  _what are they doing here?_   _And how did Thor re-attach his head? Especially without his arms-_ Loki fervently shook his own head, suddenly realizing they were ridiculous questions- unfit for this...reality, or whatever it was.

Did any of it truly happen? He was no longer injured, or, at least, not to the extent he had been a moment ago while in Stark's tower.

Thor was moving closer again, sitting next to him. Loki felt the need to move away, but there was nowhere to go, just the unyielding wall behind. He stared at the floor; suddenly unwilling to accept the face of his not-brother so near.

"Are you well, brother?" said  _that voice_. Loki wanted to grab his own head, shut his ears, never have to hear or see the thunderer again. Because what if what had happened in the tower  _was real_. What if all that had happened, what he remembered... if his once-brother had somehow- Loki grit his teeth, angry with himself. The logical part of his mind scolded him, it was impossible! All of it!... Wasn't it?

The mischief god jumped when he felt a warm hand on his trembling knee.

Loki froze.

His body refused to respond, to even  _look_  at the source of the hand. He clenched his eyes shut, certain if he opened them the nightmare would greet him with laughing arms and dripping blood eyes. And there would be the whispers; disembodied, horrible,  _screaming_  in terrible silence. None of it made sense, he didn't want to hear them, see them. The green beast showered in red would come back, break his bones; the crimson-haired woman would strip his skin, crawl inside until his blood dried. The soldier would pull him tight until his mind spilled onto the floor, ready for anybody to scoop up and use... And the others... _No...Thor_. The brother that never was. Or was he? Loki remembered the tight embrace, now it seemed a scalding hot wound, like the sun burnt on his skin, telling him that everything would be alright when truly there was nothing but dark waiting behind that open smile.

Loki could almost feel it now- the bruising grasp of the thunder god, so near yet so far. He was sure the voice was there, too, screaming at him. Saying...something.

_No! It's not real! How can he scream without a head? Not real, not real, he's not here not here, no one can save me, I'll break and shatter break and shatter until I'm a million pieces thrown into the black, not real not real no nonono-_

A violent jolt like the crackle of thunder shot through Loki. His eyes jerked open, wide but not seeing. He  _couldn't_  see, the harsh hands shaking his body forced his eyes open, but not his mind.

His ears heard something, though. Something breaking through.

A...voice. Loki recoiled, suddenly afraid, but his body had nowhere to go. He was afraid of voices in the dark, he didn't want to hear them again. But...this voice was different, singular,  _familiar_. He still didn't like it so near,  _let me free!_ When did the voices have hands, too?

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

"Loki!  _Loki!_ " Thor was screaming now, fearful for his brother and unwilling to let go despite Loki's obvious efforts to flee. The trickster squirmed in the thunderer's tight grip, two hands unwilling to let go of the too-slim arms.

"Thor!" shouted someone from behind the thunder god. Thor ignored them, determined to free his brother from...whatever was ailing him.

Because now... Thor  _did_  remember. He  _remembered_. The darkness outside, the tower so empty, his brother's cries, fearful eyes filled with confusion at a big brother's actions.  _Betrayal_.  _Hurt._  He even remembered the small things. Loki's quickening pulse beneath his palm, a voice of warning, splintered wood, the feel of thin bones between his own hand, and pain... Pain in his own body, but he didn't know where. There had been metal in his hand, his tearful brother speaking, saying  _something_. He  _hated_  it, couldn't let it happen. He didn't know what it was then, but he fought it, with everything he had. Only those green eyes had mattered...

Then...darkness.  _Nothingness._  He had drowned in it and within the nothingness lived the voices.  _So many voices_. He couldn't see them, or hear them, or even feel them. But they were there. Waiting. Watching.  _Seething._  They had wanted something, and it wasn't the god of thunder.

Thor opened his eyes, not remembering when he closed them, and jerked away from Loki, suddenly releasing him and falling back.

Loki was staring at him; tears filled the trickster's eyes without falling, but he didn't seem to notice.

Then, his voice reached Thor, so quiet, barely a whisper, "What did they want with me?"

The question was eating at Thor, so he couldn't imagine what it was like for Loki. "Th-They?" Thor managed, suddenly realizing his own eyes were blurring with tears. A distant, now unimportant, part of Thor's mind sensed the others- his friends -lingering, curious, on the other side of the cell's door. They didn't enter.

"W-Why?" Loki breathed out. "Why me?" A tear fell as his eyes searched the cell frantically, as though the answers were written there.

Thor shook his head, uncertain what to say, suddenly unwilling to move closer. "I...do not know...brother..." He sat up as best he could, "But...you were not the only one they..." His words died before they formed, suddenly inappropriate, harsh.

"I think," came a voice from behind- Steve Rogers, Thor recognized. "I think maybe your brother is saying, Loki, that you weren't alone in there-"

The trickster's eyes jerked to the others, "Oh?" His voice was tight, accusing even. "Then you remember?" He sat up a little straighter. "You all remember? Remember what you did to me?"

Every one of the Avengers averted their gaze. Thor stared at them, sympathizing. When a few of them glanced his way, a similar sentiment crossed their features that said: 'Yes, we remember,  _but you're his brother_. You remember, too?'

"Loki-" Thor looked to his brother, trying to sooth the rising anger.

"No.  _Thor_. I want to hear it from them." A few tears fell in succession from green eyes. Thor stared at him, really  _looked_  at his little brother; he suddenly realized, it wasn't just  _anger_  there, but...  _terror_. Thor continued staring as Loki bore holes into the other Avengers, seemingly out of defiance.  _What is there to be afraid of?_  Then, a thought floated into his mind,  _has it all truly passed?_

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

_I will not back down, I will not cower, I will not run!_ And, anyway, where was there to run to? Loki couldn't take his eyes off the mortals standing opposite his cell door. He recognized his face was wet, and he wondered how blood had gotten on him again. His body was rigid, held taut, waiting like a spring ready to be released.

But the mortals said nothing.

"Loki."

Loki didn't want to look, he  _refused_  to look at the source of the voice. There was more wetness on his face,  _where's all this blood coming from?_  he wondered. He looked up, angry and unsure why he was angry, but the ceiling was blank. Bloodless. He frowned at it, confused. He looked at the floor, it too was blank, normal. And the walls...

The god of mischief stared. He stared at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, all of it, so utterly...normal.  _Real._  No blood. No darkness oozing in, just plain and boring, as reality should be.

 _Could it be..?_  He wasn't sure if he should dare to hope.

Loki shook his head, suddenly afraid-  _but what am I afraid of?_  He kept shaking his head, eyes closed, voice trembling, "Don't... _don't..._ " The wetness fell again. "Don't you  _dare_  taunt me with  _this_ , this... _reality_. Don't do this to me then take it away..."

A shadow fell over him suddenly and Loki flinched away, unable to look, certain the pain would come next- the smothering darkness. His once brother turned to something else, the others, monsters waiting to shred and burn their waiting victim. He couldn't fathom what they might do to him as a group.

But the pain didn't come, instead, there was something around him,  _holding_  him.

_What-?_

He dared to open his eyes, curiosity at the strangely familiar feeling overwhelming him.

Loki tried to speak, but only a strange gurgling noise escaped. Thor was hugging him. And the others... they remained where they were, on the other side of his cell door. Some stared, others looked awkward.

He tried to speak again, and again no true words escaped. And suddenly, he didn't care. He didn't care when his own arms moved around the armored chest, he didn't care when he rested his head on a red-caped shoulder, and he still didn't care when he realized the wetness wasn't blood, but tears.

When his voice finally came back to him, this time, when  _that word_  was spoken, he knew it was his own, and a small smile crept up with it: "Brother."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read and commented on this story! I lurve y'all! XD
> 
> Just FYI, while I'm at it: I've decided that I want to write a sequel for this. If you're still confused by this story, I'll be putting in some explanations for this one in it. Well, maybe not an out-and-out sequel, but more of a story that takes place in the same "continuity", so to speak. It would take place after this one, and the reason I wouldn't exactly say it's a sequel is because it would be in a different genre. I'm thinking something along the lines of adventure/mystery... suspense? Maybe? Some fantasy or supernatural? Let's just say, from what little I've written already, it would be like 'Alice In Wonderland' meets the Avengers, but darker (but not depressing, I think) than both. I'm also thinking it would have more h/c, but by the nature of adventure stories that aren't dragged out, h/c is hard to fit in at every corner. Even so, h/c is my favorite thing, so I'm likely to sneak it in at every opportunity ;D


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